The Return of Series
by Vinividivinci
Summary: This will be a series of stand-alone stories of Patrick meeting up with various people from his life before marrying Teresa. I started this as individual stories, but to make it easier for my readers, decided to compile all the stories under one. There will be a variety of genres and characters.
1. Chapter 1

The characters in the following stories are not mine (at least most of them aren't). No copyright infringement is intended.

I've decided to put my "Return of" series into one story, to make it easier to find. This series starts with: The Return of Walter Mashburn and goes from there. You may have read these separately but from now on new stories will be posted under this one.

Thank you all for your reviews and comments. Suggestions for future stories are always appreciated.

Vini – December, 2015


	2. The Return of Walter Mashburn

**_Just rewatched "Red Hot" with Walter Mashburn (hated the ending - thought it was really OOC for Lisbon) and this one-shot is the result. Just a short one because I need regular doses of TM to keep me going._**

 ** _NOT MINE, NEVER MINE except in my dreams._**

"Patrick Jane! What are you doing here?"

"Mashburn," Jane answered, lifting his head from the menu he was holding. He squinted, as Walter Mashburn stood framed in the sun's glare. "I'm about to have a cup of tea. What are _you_ doing here?"

The rich businessman/playboy grinned and grabbed the chair opposite Jane and pulled it out. "Can I join you?" Before Jane had a chance to answer Walter had plunked himself down in the chair.

"Be my guest," Patrick said, looking at the other man with little or no expression.

"So – my question. What are you doing here in California? The last I heard weren't you on the run from the FBI?"

"No, I'm actually working for them."

"You're _working_ for them? How the hell did you manage that? I mean, I heard you killed that serial killer – congratulations by the way - and had to flee the country." He frowned suddenly. "You could have called me you know. I would have helped you."

"Why thank you," Jane nodded at his companion. "That's decent of you Walter, but I made out just fine."

"Had your escape route all planned, did you?"

"Mmm. One can never be too prepared," Patrick answered with a small grin.

"That's what I always say. Still, I'd love to hear how you managed to get by the FBI."

When Jane simply shrugged, unwilling to tell his secrets, Mashburn sighed but then leaned forward, curiosity in his voice. "So, how _did_ you end up working for them? I mean, I'm happy for you, but they don't usually hire fugitive murderers."

"They didn't because I wasn't."

"Wasn't what? A fugitive or a murderer?"

"Either. I left the country because I - needed a rest. It was a busy few years with the CBI."

"Needed a rest?" Walter snorted. "Right – in Venezuela?"

"Beautiful country."

"So," Walter sighed, "are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

His brows beginning to descend in slight irritation – something Walter didn't usually allow himself – he asked the question again. "How is it you're working for the FBI, because I _know_ you were a fugitive. I have my sources."

"Sources? Okay fine. I'll grant you that it was – better – for me to leave the country, but only for a short time until the FBI realized their mistake. They eventually came around and offered me a job."

"Right – a mistake!" Mashburn grinned again. "Tell the truth - they just figured you were too valuable an asset to let rot in jail, didn't they?"

"I wasn't _in_ jail. I was in a tropical paradise."

"Which I'm sure felt like jail after a while. You can't tell me that you didn't grow to hate being stuck there, not able to go anywhere because of extradition."

Just then the waitress appeared so Jane wasn't forced to comment. "Hello," he smiled at the woman. "I'll have a hot tea – Oolong if you have it. And can you please make sure the water is fully boiled and put in the tea immediately. Please don't bring me a pot of lukewarm water and a tea bag. And bring me some milk too please."

"Got it," the waitress smiled as she wrote everything down. "Anything else?"

"Yes, a decaf iced coffee with cream. And would you bring a piece of your cherry pie with ice cream."

"One decaf iced coffee with cream and cherry pie with ice cream."

"I don't want a decaf coffee," Mashburn complained, "although the pie sounds good".

"Would you like something Sir?" the waitress asked.

"Uh yeah – a regular coffee and one of those pieces of pie."

"So," Walter continued, after the waitress had left, "you're working for the FBI", he commented redundantly. "Here in California?"

"No, I'm in Austin, Texas."

"You're in _Texas_?" Mashburn laughed. "Where are your cowboy boots?"

"Contrary to popular opinion, many people in Texas do not wear cowboy boots. And Austin is nice – very nice."

"Really? I wouldn't have thought of you living there. But if you like it, that's good. Still – working for the FBI. That's crazy Patrick."

"It isn't where I expected my life to go, I must admit. But it's – good," his lips lifted slightly as he looked directly at the other man.

"I'm glad for you. I know – well, I know what happened to you and it's great that things are working out." Mashburn sat for a moment, biting his lip and looking unusually uncertain. With a sudden resolve he spoke.

"How's Teresa? I know she ended up in Washington," he continued without waiting for an answer. "I tried to contact her but she wouldn't return my calls. I figured she was hurting over the Blake thing and the break up of the CBI."

Jane pursed his lips and nodded. His hands suddenly became busy folding and refolding the napkin in front of him.

"She's some woman," Walter continued seriously. "I figure I made a huge mistake in letting her go without trying to get to know her better. We would have been good together."

The hands across from him stopped folding the napkin – for a brief moment – and then resumed. Mashburn didn't notice.

"Yeah – she's a gorgeous woman all right, and smart, really smart." He grinned. "Most of the women I know aren't that – smart."

"No? If I remember correctly you favored form over substance," Patrick said, with a raised eyebrow.

"Unfortunately true," the wealthy playboy nodded. "Maybe I'll try and look her up again, see if I can convince her to give me a chance. I'm sure by now she's over what happened. What do you think Patrick?"

"Do I think she's over it? I expect so."

"No, I mean do you think I should give it a go? I could offer her – well – anything she wanted. Maybe she'd like to sail on my yacht!"

"No, I don't think so."

"No," Walter frowned, "why not?"

Patrick opened his mouth to explain why Mashburn shouldn't look her up, but then stopped, an impish look in his eyes. "She gets sea sick."

"Really? – I didn't know that. Well maybe we could go to a tropical island – like you did," he grinned. "I actually own one, you know."

"You do? But no, she'd get bored in no time."

"Do you think so? But I _would_ like to see her in a bikini," Walter smirked, "or _out_ of a bikini. She's got a really hot -"

"Here's my tea," Jane interrupted as he saw the waitress approach. The two men sat quietly as the drinks and pies were placed in front of them. It was only after she left that Mashburn continued.

"You know Teresa better than me, Patrick, so tell me what would she like? How do I entice her to give me a chance?"

Jane's eyebrow went up.

"I don't think I'm really the person you should ask, Mashburn," Patrick commented calmly.

"Hey, I'm not asking about the romance part of it because I know you don't – that's not – I mean, I wouldn't ask you."

"Why not?" Jane frowned, looking slightly indignant.

"Well because – you and Teresa were more like brother and sister and that would be– yuck. I just meant – what kinds of things does she like to do? What would impress her?"

"Oh, _that's_ what you meant. Well, that's different. Let's see, what would impress her?" Suddenly Jane shifted in his seat and looked very serious. If the other man had taken careful note, however, he would have seen the devilish gleam in his companion's eyes. "Well, she likes beekeeping."

" _Beekeeping_?"

"Uh huh. It's a hidden desire of hers – don't ever tell her I told you."

"Beekeeping," Mashburn looked slightly stunned. "O - kay – I guess I can find someone who keeps bees. What else?"

"Family picnics."

"Family picnics? I don't really have any family that I'm in contact with." He grinned. "They've all disowned me."

"Surprising."

"But _she_ must have family."

"They're in Chicago."

"Oh – well, I could fly them all out to Washington. She'd like that."

"Maybe – although you haven't met her family."

"Are they – awful?" Mashburn said, looking slightly worried.

"Oh no, not at all. It's just – when they catch wind that you're rich …"

"Freeloaders?"

Jane just shrugged. "I'm sure you'll get to like them. I expect Teresa would want them to live with you."

" _Live_ with us. Whoa! I haven't even asked _her_ to live with me yet."

"Yet? So you're planning to ask her?"

Walter sighed and leaned back. "Who knows – but she is an amazing woman. I probably couldn't do any better than her."

"No, you couldn't," Jane agreed.

"She's an interesting woman – she'd keep me on my toes."

"Yes, she is and she would."

"Maybe I'll give her a call. No – I think I'll just fly out to Washington and see her - surprise her, you know."

"If you fly to Washington to see her - it will be a surprise," Jane nodded.

"Do you think – will she like it?"

"Will she like what?"

"Having me surprise her."

"Uh – you never know with Teresa," he said, shrugging.

"I thought you knew her really well." Mashburn regarded him seriously for a minute. "You know, I always kind of wondered why you didn't go for her."

"Really? You wondered that did you?" Patrick took a sip of tea.

"Hey I'm sorry Patrick, I forgot about -" he gestured towards Jane's hand, which was sporting a wedding ring. "Obviously you weren't interested in her. I'm mean, you're clearly still -"

"Still - ?"

"Well – I know about your wife – so – grieving, I guess. I'm sure it would be hard to – uh – move on."

"It was," Jane nodded and took another sip of tea.

"It _was_?" Mashburn stared at him, an arrested look on his face. "You mean you _have_? Patrick, I didn't realize." He glanced at Jane's hand again. "Wait, that's a different ring, isn't it?" he looked down at Jane's hand. "I should have seen that."

"Very observant of you," Patrick nodded and lifted his hand, looking at the platinum band that adorned his finger. "Yes, it is."

"You got married again?"

"I did," Jane smiled as he put his hand down.

"Why congratulations! That's wonderful. You deserve to be happy. When did this happen? Was it someone you met in Venezuela? Or maybe some cute Texas woman."

"No, she's from here – at least this is where I met her."

"So – do I get to meet her?" Mashburn grinned and took a bite of pie.

"Patrick, did you order me my coffee?"

Mashburn spewed the pie practically across the table. It took him a moment to get himself under control, but then he looked at the person who had spoken. " _Teresa_!" He stood slowly. "I didn't know you were here. What -?" He frowned at the bundle she was carrying. "What's that?"

"My dear," Jane said, glancing at her with a grin. "Look who I ran into – Walter Mashburn!" Jane stood up and grabbed another chair and pulled it up to the table.

"Hi Walter," Teresa said, looking and sounding slightly tense as she moved to sit down. "What are you doing here?"

"Huh?" Walter continued to look at the small – now moving – bundle in Teresa's arms. "That's a baby."

"Here," Patrick stood again and reached down for the bundle. "Let me hold him while you have your coffee – iced _decaf_ coffee," he said to his wife's look of disgust. "But I also ordered you a piece of pie, which you'd better eat it before all the ice cream melts."

"Thank you," she smiled at him for the pie and then handed him the baby. "He's all clean and dry now."

"Hey little man," Patrick said, holding the baby up to his face and giving him a gentle kiss.

"Patrick – who is that?" Mashburn was regarding him with a frown.

Jane turned to him with a big smile as he sat down with the baby in his arms. "This? This is my son, Samuel."

"Your son?" He slowly swiveled in his chair and looked at Teresa, who was busy eating her pie and _not_ looking at him. "And I assume you're the mother?"

"Yes," she nodded, her eyes looking up – and down quickly.

"You and Patrick – you're married?" Mashburn said slowly, glancing between the two of them.

It was Jane who answered him as Teresa put a big spoonful of ice cream in her mouth.

"I'm sorry Walter, I didn't get a chance to tell you. Teresa and I got married last year."

Walter stared at him for a few seconds and then slowly shook his head. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

"Yes," Jane smiled, "Sorry – I couldn't really resist."

"Jane?" Teresa was looking between the two men, frown lines etched between her brows. "What's going on?"

"Mashburn didn't know we were married."

"He didn't tell me you'd had a baby either," Walter added. "Congratulations you two," he told them, not sounding particularly happy. "How old is it - he?"

"Thank you – and he's just six weeks old," Teresa answered. "Did Patrick tell you we're living in Texas now? We're just visiting friends here for a few days."

"He did. At least he told me _he_ was living in Texas. It was about the only thing he _did_ tell me," Walter said with a glare to the man now gently rocking his child. "You're with the FBI too I suppose?"

"Yes. Strange, isn't it. I thought I was going to be stuck in a small town in Washington for the rest of my career, but then Patrick came back and they offered us both a job."

"Wanted to keep him in line did they?" Walter began to smile.

"Yes, exactly."

"Hey, that is a totally false story," Patrick objected. "I told them I wouldn't work for them unless they offered Teresa a job so they did. They've now learned that it was the best decision they'd ever made."

Walter relaxed suddenly and grinned as he looked between the two of them. "I should have seen it," he told them, slowly shaking his head. "I never stood a chance, did I?"

"Nope," Patrick smiled and lifted his cup of tea in a salute. Teresa frowned and looked back and forth between the two men.

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Patrick smiled at her.

Teresa clearly didn't believe him, giving him the wifely – wait until we get home and then you're going to tell me everything – look. But for now she let it drop.

"Beekeeping?" Mashburn suddenly said.

"You believed it," Jane pointed out.

Walter shook his head. "And she probably doesn't get seasick, does she."

"Oh yes, that's true."

The rich playboy leaned back in his chair and laughed. "You are one lucky bastard Patrick Jane, I hope you realize that."

"Every moment of every day," he said softly, looking first at Teresa and then down at his son.

"Good! Cause if you screw up, I'll be here."

"Mashburn, you need to find yourself a good woman – a strong, _smart_ woman – Teresa is already taken."

" _Jane_ ," his wife said in embarrassment. "He knows that."

"Just makin' sure. Hey, maybe we should have him meet Kim. I bet they'd hit it off."

"No," Walter stood up and pushed in his chair. "I'm perfectly capable of finding myself a good woman. Looking at what the two of you have – maybe it's time I did."

"I wish you all the best Mashburn," Jane nodded. "It was nice to see you."

"Yes Walter – it was nice," Teresa said, still looking uncomfortable.

Mashburn laughed again and leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "For old times Teresa. Just make sure you keep Jane in line. Congratulations again. I'll see you around sometime. Patrick," he nodded his head and a moment later was gone.

"Well that was weird," Teresa said with a frown. "What were you talking about?"

"Oh, he's a little bit in love with you," her husband told her as he calmly sipped his tea, the baby sound asleep on his shoulder. "He wanted to look you up and see if you'd be interested in – getting to know him better."

Teresa stared at him for a few seconds and then snorted. "Right! Me and Walter Mashburn." She rolled her eyes and took a bite of pie. "Why would I want him when I've got you."

He grinned and settled back, enjoying the warmth of the California sun and the company of the two people he loved most in the world. He figured he was way richer then Walter Mashburn ever would be.


	3. The Return of Danny Ruskin

_**One of my readers suggested that I write about different characters meeting up with Jane (thanks Brennan447). I decided that would be fun – so I'm going to do a bit of a series about Jane meeting various characters from the show who don't know about him and Teresa. The chapters won't be connected, or continuous (it would stretch reality too much) but rather separate stories with different characters. If there's anyone you'd like me to include, let me know.**_

 _ **Oh – and some of them will be humorous, others a little more serious and some with angst (like the one to follow). Thanks!**_

 _ **NOT MINE.**_

He had arrived that morning in Los Angeles, having had to return to California to deal with some business affairs. When he'd fled the country the government had seized his property, including his house in Malibu. Eventually they would have sold it off, but fortunately the wheels of bureaucracy turned very, very slowly. By the time the paper work had been done, he was no longer a fugitive and all charges against him had been dropped. It was Dennis who had informed him that the house had been returned to him.

He'd been surprised – and a little shocked if he were being honest. He'd let the place go – emotionally – when he'd killed Red John and fled. He had known and dealt with the fact that killing him would mean he'd lose everything he had in this country, including his house, all his possessions, his ability to visit his wife and daughter's graves – and of course Teresa and his friends at the CBI.

The house had actually been the easiest to let go. For many years it had existed as a reminder of his guilt. He would return there when he needed to refocus – to remind himself of the importance of his quest for vengeance. Sleeping on a mattress on the floor, in the room where his wife and daughter had died – kept him moving forward whenever he had thought about giving up.

So losing it had been somehow symbolic of the fact that his quest was over. It had been completed. And he had been relieved it was done, even though, in the end, it hadn't really changed anything. It certainly hadn't brought Angela and Charlotte back.

Not that he had ever expected that. But he _had_ expected to feel a sense of satisfaction. Instead all he'd really felt was relief that it was all over – relief and some regret. Oh, he didn't regret that he'd killed McAllister – never that – but regret that by doing so he had cut himself off from the possibility of a new life.

Instead he'd given up everything to spend the rest of his life in exile, away from anything good in his life.

But fate had played a hand, fate and Dennis Abbott, and he'd been able to return to his life in the US.

And now he'd gotten his house back.

So here he was in Malibu, standing in front of what had been a gift from him to his wife – the gift of a "house without wheels". He looked at the beautiful setting and, for the first time in a long, long time, wasn't filled with guilt and hatred and despair. Instead all he felt was a gentle sadness, a regret for innocent lives lost. He sighed and slowly made his way up the drive to the front door.

He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do with the place now that it was back in his possession. He'd told Lisbon that he needed to come here, to spend a few days, and figure it out. She'd offered to come with him, but he'd told her it was something he had to do alone. It was his albatross and she didn't need the worry, not now, especially not now. Fortunately she had understood and had given him a kiss and told him to look after himself. He smiled at the memory of her.

He could sell it, he thought as he looked at the front door, although the agent he'd spoken to had told him it might be hard because of the history of the place. No one wanted to buy a house where a serial killer had committed such a horrible crime.

He could have the place bulldozed – the land would still fetch a pretty penny – but somehow he didn't have the heart to do that. This is the house where Charlotte had spent her short life. This is where he'd taught her to ride her tricycle. This is the house in which he'd spent six wonderful years with his wife.

He sighed and put the key in the lock and turned it. A moment later he pushed the door open. With a deep breath he took a step – and then another until he was inside his house.

The first thing that hit him was that the house didn't smell musty, didn't have that "unlived in" feel. The second was that someone was in his house!

 _Living_ in his house. What the hell? He glanced around at the bits of furniture – a mattress on the floor, a small table and chair, a _TV?_ There were other odds and ends strewn around. Clearly someone had made himself, or herself at home.

He felt a surge of anger – uncharacteristic anger – flow through him and he took a step forward without considering if it was safe. Someone had intruded on _his_ property, on _his_ life and he was going to find out who had so dared.

Without warning he heard a sound, but before he had a chance to react he had been tackled from behind and was thrown to the ground. His head hit the bottom of the stairs – fortunately only a glancing blow, but it was enough to stun him. As he faded out he looked up into a face he recognized.

"What the hell?" he said a while later as his eyes regained focus. He was lying on the mattress on the floor, a cold cloth being held on the bump, which now graced the side of his skull.

"What did you do that for?" he asked his brother-in-law, who was looking at him sheepishly. Patrick pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing at the sudden pain and causing Danny to drop his arm and sit back.

"I didn't know it was you," Danny said calmly. "I thought it was an intruder."

"Yeah – an intruder like you. What the hell are you doing in my house?"

"Well, you weren't using it," Danny said logically. "It was empty and I needed a place to – chill – for a while."

"You mean hide. Who's after you now?"

Danny shrugged. "No one – not now. I'm not lying," he defended himself as Jane looked at him incredulously. "I've been here for months. Things have – died down."

"Months?"

"Yeah. I heard about you killing – him – and that you had to leave the country. I figured you wouldn't be using the house and they weren't selling it. It seemed a waste."

By this time Jane had managed to sit up completely and he swiveled around until he was looking directly at Danny. The younger man didn't look so good. He'd aged since Patrick had last seen him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wishing that he didn't have this new complication in his life.

"So what are you doing back?" Danny suddenly frowned. "Are the cops looking for you?"

"Why would they be looking for me?" Jane asked, confused.

"Because of Red John," Danny said, in a tone of voice that implied Jane should have figured that one out.

"Uh – he's dead."

"I know that! You killed him. Good job, by the way."

Jane gave a small shrug, not willing to accept any kind of praise for doing what he'd set out to do so many years ago. "So what are you talking about?"

"Aren't they looking for you – for killing him?"

Jane frowned and suddenly realized that Danny didn't know. He hadn't thought to contact him after returning to America although he was surprised he hadn't heard it from a mutual acquaintance. "Uh – haven't you talked to Sam or Pete?"

"The Barsoki's? No, not for a long time. I told you, I was laying low. Why, are they okay?"

"They're fine. It's just that they know about me so I thought they might have told you. I've been back for a year and a half. I received a pardon in exchange for working for the FBI."

"The FBI?" Danny suddenly grinned. "Don't tell me you're a G-man?"

"No, I'm not. I'm a consultant."

"Like you were with the CBI?"

"Yeah, like that."

"Wow – I had no idea. You realize your ancestors would turn in their graves if they knew you were working for the feds."

"Probably."

"So you're not going to jail for killing that bastard?"

"No," he shook his head.

"Good! But – what are you doing here? And if you've been back for a year and a half, what took you so long to visit your house?"

"It took that long for the feds to give it back to me – it was siezed when I left the country. And as for what I'm doing here – I came to figure out what to do with the place."

"What to do with it? Why don't you live in it?"

Jane looked around at the almost bare room. He'd hardly spent any time here except in the bedroom. He'd cleared the place out after the funerals – and before being committed to the hospital. All the while he'd been at the CBI he'd paid the taxes and had had someone come in and clean it every few months – at least all of it except the bedroom, which had been off limits.

He couldn't imagine ever living here again. There were too many memories – too much pain.

"I'm not living in California anymore," was all he said. "I'm in Texas."

" _Texas_?" Danny laughed. "Really? You turning into a cowboy?"

"I'm in Austin. It's a great city – very progressive and interesting."

"Really? You like working for the FBI?"

Jane shrugged. "Sometimes. It can be interesting. I'm actually only working part-time now."

"How come?"

"I'm doing – other things. I'm renovating a house, for one thing."

"You? That's different."

"Not really. I used to love to build things when I was young."

"Yeah, back in the carny days."

There was silence for a few minutes until Danny took a deep breath. "Want a beer?"

"Uh – some water maybe, or tea if you have it. I don't think I should drink alcohol with this headache."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Danny grimaced. "You startled me."

"Not as much as you startled me!"

Danny stood up and walked the short way to the kitchen. He got a pot and poured some bottled water in it and put it on the stove.

Patrick frowned. "Isn't the power off, and the gas? How are you getting that to work?"

"I had them switch it back on," he said. "I told them I was you."

"And they _believed_ you?"

"Mmm hmm. The house is in your name. You should be happy – this way you'll get your tea."

A few sips of tea later and he was starting to feel better. Danny hadn't said too much more – only telling him a few things about his travels since they'd last seen each other.

"So – the house. What are you going to do with it?"

Jane glanced around again. "I'm not sure. I spoke to an agent and she thought I'd have trouble selling it – the house anyway. If I tear it down I could sell the land. It's prime real estate."

"Could you? Tear the house down I mean?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "It somehow feels like I'd be – destroying my memories of Angela and Charlotte."

Danny looked at him in surprise. "I would think this place would have bad memories. I mean – you left the – thing, on the wall."

"It was a reminder."

"You needed a _reminder_?" Danny asked, sounding angry.

"Not of what had happened," he said bitterly. "That was etched into my soul. I meant a reminder of what I had to do. There were some days -" he stopped and took a breath.

"Some days?"

"Some days I didn't know if I could continue. I was _tired_ – after years of searching – and sometimes I thought about giving up. But then I'd come back here and I'd see that face and I'd know I had to continue."

"And now?"

"What do you mean?"

"You got him. You won. You finished what you set out to do. Don't you think it's time you got rid of it?"

Jane thought for a moment about that face – that face that still haunted his nightmares. Oh, they were less frequent now, but he still got them on occasion.

"Yeah, I do," he said softly. "But – I don't know if I can."

"Why not?" Danny frowned. "Just get a can of paint and paint over it. It'll take about five minutes."

"It's not that it's -"

"What?" Danny asked, more gently this time.

"I don't know if I _deserve_ to get rid of it." Jane let out a slow breath and closed his eyes, hating to have admitted that. Over the past few years, since he'd killed Red John, he'd slowly begun to heal. The last year had done more for that than anything could. He was happy again – happy like he'd never thought he would be after losing his wife and daughter.

But there was still a strong core of guilt that resided in him – one he was sure would never leave. And somehow that face had become the symbol of his guilt. It was a reminder to him that he couldn't ever become complacent in his new life - because he had been before and he'd lost everything.

Most days he could forget it – could simply enjoy his new life. But every once in a while it would creep up on him and practically consume him. Thankfully it happened less and less – but he didn't think it would ever leave him completely.

He knew that Teresa noticed. In fact he was pretty sure she knew how he felt at those times. But she respected that he sometimes needed to be alone to deal with his demons and she never pushed, never asked him to explain.

And he didn't want to tell her. Not because he didn't trust her – because he did, completely and absolutely. It was just that he didn't want her to suffer for him, to deal with his pain. She didn't need that and he wasn't going to burden her with it.

But Danny – he'd understand. Not only that, he knew the younger man would be able to deal with it in a way that Teresa never could. Danny was the ultimate con-man and carny. He didn't let things bother him because it wasn't worth it. You couldn't make money from guilt – at least your own guilt – so it was best to let it go.

"You're an idiot," Danny told him in disgust.

"What?" his brow crinkled as he looked at his brother-in-law.

"I said, you're an idiot. You killed the man who killed my sister and niece. You found him and you killed him so now's the time to let it go. _You_ didn't kill them Patrick – it was that evil son of a bitch who did it and you got him. Feeling guilty -"

"Is for marks, I know."

"Not what I was going to say – although it's true," he grinned. "I was going to say that allowing yourself to still wallow in guilt isn't fair to the memory of Angie or Charlotte. You need to think of them with love and – remember the good times. If all you do is feel guilty you'll have forgotten who they were. Just let it go."

"Have you?" he asked softly.

Danny stared off into space for quite a few seconds. Finally he chuckled softly. "Yeah, I have. I didn't for a long time – you know I blamed you?"

"Yeah, you told me that the last time."

"Well, that wasn't fair to you – although I didn't care about that at the time. I just needed someone to blame and you became it. But I knew, deep inside, that the only one at fault was the man who had killed them. When I heard he was dead – that you had killed him, I made the choice to let my anger go. There was no point in it and I want to remember Angie the way I saw her the last time."

Jane nodded. "I wish I could see her that way. All I see is -" he stopped and swallowed, knowing he couldn't tell Angela's brother what lived in his mind.

"So, let's do it together."

"What?" he asked, not sure what Danny was talking about.

"Painting the wall. Let's the two of us get rid of it once and for all and then maybe you can start to move on. You need to get yourself a life Patrick and let this go."

Slowly he smiled. "But I have Danny – I've got a new life."

"Really?" Danny glanced down at his ring finger and his brows shot up. "You're married."

"Yeah – last year. Sorry, it was sudden and I had no idea where you were."

"And you wouldn't have wanted me there anyway. And I – well, I'm happy for you, but I'm glad I wasn't there." Danny told him bluntly. "So, tell me about her."

"You met her." At Danny's blank look he went on to explain. "Teresa – Teresa Lisbon? The CBI agent who I worked with."

"You married _her_?" Danny said incredulously. "Wow, I had no idea. Although now that I think of it – it's perfect. If anyone could keep you on your toes, it's her. And – it's good?"

"Yeah," he smiled slightly, "it's good. I'm – happy again."

Danny regarded him somberly for a few seconds until finally he broke into a grin. "I'm glad for you Paddy. Angela would be too. She'd want you to be happy."

"I – yeah, I think so too although -"

"Nope – no althoughs, or buts, or whatever. Just accept the fact that my sister loved you and always wanted what was best for you. She'd kick your butt from here to eternity if she thought you were still feeling guilty or that you hadn't allowed yourself to love someone again. You know her – she didn't put up with any of our crap!"

"She didn't, did she?" Patrick laughed softly. "And Teresa is the same."

"Good. You need someone who knows all your tricks. So, why didn't she come with you?"

"I wouldn't let – no, let me rephrase that. I _asked_ her not to come. This was something I needed to do by myself and anyway, it's not a good time for her."

"Why not?"

"Well," Jane slowly smiled, "we just had a baby and I didn't really want her to travel so soon."

"A baby?" Danny's eyebrows lifted. "Wow – you're a Daddy again."

"I am," Jane pursed his lips and nodded slightly.

"Boy or girl?"

"Boy," he smiled. "David Patrick. Here," Jane reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. A moment later he was showing Danny pictures of Teresa and David.

"Lots of hair," Danny commented.

"Who? Teresa or David?"

The two men grinned. "I meant the baby. He's got her hair."

"Yeah, and her eyes and nose and – I don't think he got anything from me," he frowned.

"Probably got your personality," his brother-in-law told him with a smirk.

"Poor kid," Jane answered, looking down at the picture of his wife and son. "I hope not."

"Ah – you're a pretty good guy Patrick. You're a much better person than me."

Jane looked up at the younger man – feeling a sudden rush of affection for him. "Thank you. And hey – don't say that about my brother-in-law," he said sternly. "Angela would have _your_ ass for talking about yourself like that."

"She would, wouldn't she," Danny said with a crooked grin. "So Daddy – what's say we go buy ourselves a can of paint and get rid of some guilt?"

He thought about it for a moment, and then looked down again at the picture. For his wife and son – he needed to do this. "Yes, let's do it."

It was only when they got to the hardware store that Jane realized that paint wasn't going to be enough. Danny gave him a strange look when he saw all the supplies he'd collected, but by the time they left the store he had realized what it was for. All he said was "let's do this thing."

It took the rest of the day for them to finish. Jane had had trouble opening the door to the room. It had been a long time since he'd seen it – and he wanted it gone from his life. He'd taken a few minutes to stare at it, to realize it no longer held any power over him. After that it had been easy.

He'd taken a sharp razor knife and had cut a large square, surrounding the face, in the drywall. With Danny's help they managed to remove the piece with Red John's mark.

"What do you want to do with it?" his brother-in-law had asked.

He thought for a moment and decided. "I'm going to take this outside. Can you get started on repairing the drywall?" They'd bought a sheet of drywall from the hardward store and Danny nodded and began to measure the piece he'd need.

Jane carried the piece of wall downstairs and out into the back. He looked around the yard until he found a likely spot and laid it down. He then retrieved four large rocks and placed them on the ground. Next he lifted the drywall onto the rocks and went back inside for the sledgehammer he'd purchased that day.

He returned to the backyard and stared for quite a while at the face. He repeated to himself that it no longer had any power over his life. The man who had painted it had died at his hands – died in terror, the breath and life squeezed from him. It was done and Danny was right, it was time to leave this behind and to move on.

Patrick lifted the sledgehammer above his head and, with a deep breath, brought it down with all his strength on the face. It split with a loud _crack._ After that Jane continued to hack away at it – so lost in his need to destroy this thing that he only came back to reality when Danny's hand grabbed his arm.

"Come on Patrick – enough. It's done."

He stopped and blinked in surprise. It was only then that he realized that his arm was shaking and he was covered in sweat. He looked at the ground – to see nothing but small, shattered shards of drywall.

"Uh – I guess I demolished it," he said, looking slightly embarrassed.

Danny gave a crack of laughter. "Paddy – I don't think you could even make a toothpick out of this crap." He looked searchingly at his brother-in-law. "Feel better?"

Jane considered that for a moment and then his face slowly erupted in a big smile. "Yes – yes I do." He reached out a shaky arm and grasped Danny's shoulder. "Thanks!"

"My pleasure! I would have liked to take a swing at it myself, but I figured you needed to be the one to do it. I would like to collect this stuff and burn it though, if you're okay with that?"

"Better than okay – let's do it." So the two men collected the pile of smashed drywall and shoveled it into the fire pit in the backyard. Patrick let Danny be the one to light the match – and the two of them watched until there was nothing left but ash.

By the time the embers had died out it was late. Jane decided to get a room at a hotel that night – pretty sure he didn't want to sleep on the floor. He told Danny he'd be back.

The next afternoon he looked at the freshly painted bedroom. Danny had finished fixing the wall – and the two of them had spent the morning painting it . They'd done it in a pale blue color and had removed the mattress from the floor. It was bright and clean and fresh – and Patrick felt like a weight had been removed from his shoulders. No longer would that face look down on him. It was gone – destroyed – and he refused to let it control any more of his life.

As he and Danny shared a late lunch he glanced over at the other man. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For –making me deal with some demons. For making me realize I had to let go of Red John once and for all. For letting me pound the hell out of that wall until there was nothing left and then helping me burn it. For making me realize I need to also let go of my guilt and go on with my life."

"Oh." Danny sat for a few seconds, staring at his sandwich. He finally looked up. "You're welcome." He paused again and then took a deep breath. "I didn't get a chance to face that bastard or to kill him, even though I wanted to so badly – so thank _you_ for letting me help you destroy that fuckin' symbol. And I hope he's burning forever in hell." Danny said softly.

Patrick laughed softly – although without humor. "I don't believe in an afterlife – although I wish I did because I'd hope for that too." He stopped and frowned. "No, on second thought I don't want to ever think of him again." He slowly looked up and took a deep breath– and then let it out slowly. As he let that breath out he also let go of a lot more. "As of this moment – I am never going to think of him – or that face – ever again. I'm not going to remember finding Angela or Charlotte. I'm only going to remember them as they lived, not as they died. I am no longer going to let guilt control my life."

"That's the spirit, Paddy," Danny said softly. He reached out and squeezed the other man's shoulder. "Angie would be happy to hear that."

Patrick found his eyes filling with tears, and blinked rapidly, embarrassed to let the other man see him like this. But then he noticed Danny rubbing his eyes and he laughed – this time _with_ humor. "We're a pair."

"Oh yeah," Danny laughed. "We've really got to stop this Patrick. Every time I see you I end up blubbering!"

"Well, if you saw me more often it wouldn't affect you quite so much."

"Are you saying you _want_ to see me?" the other man said, his eyebrow lifting in surprise.

"Yes, as long as you stay out of trouble. I'd like – I'd like you to meet my son."

Danny was quiet for a moment and then answered softly. "I'd like that. Do you think - ?"

"What?"

"Would you mind if he called me – Uncle Danny?"

Jane couldn't have answered if he tried. His throat seized up as he felt emotion overwhelming him. He closed his eyes briefly, and then opened them and looked at Daniel – and nodded. "Angela would like that," was all he said.

Coming to his house had been difficult, and he hadn't known how he would feel He still hadn't figured out what he was going to do with the place – but right now it didn't matter. He looked around at the bare room and walls – and realized it was no longer a place of horror – or a reminder of his guilt. It had been cleansed of evil – and now he could allow the good memories to live again.

And he had Danny Ruskin to thank for that.

He grinned. "Hey brother-in-law," he grinned, "how about a game of poker? Loser buys dinner."


	4. The Return of Kristina Frye

_**The third installment of my "Return of" series. Some of my readers requested different characters - the one with the most votes was Kristina Frye. I admit I found this extremely difficult and am not particularly happy with it but I decided to post. It ended up being longer than I'd planned, so this will be a two chapter story.**_

 _ **Hope you enjoy - and watch for the next story ... The Return of Virgil Manelli**_

He was laying the hardwood floor when the phone rang. He sighed, knowing he had to answer it but resenting the fact that he was being pulled from his work. His kid would be in high school by the time he finished the house. Still, he couldn't ignore his phone – not when Teresa was working _and_ even more importantly, when she was getting near to her due date.

"Hello," he said, wiping one dusty hand on his work pants.

"I'm calling for Mr. Patrick Jane," the man's voice at the other end said.

"That's me," he answered. He frowned, for some reason getting a very bad feeling about this call. "What can I do for you?"

"My name is Dr. Dev Samrah – I'm the psychiatrist in residence at St. Joseph's."

"St. Joseph's?" he asked, sounding puzzled. He was pretty sure he'd never heard of the place.

"We're a long-term care facility."

"Oh, okay. Uh, what can I do for you?"

"Well, we have a patient here – she's been with us a few years now – and until yesterday she was – well, let's say she was not really aware of her surroundings."

He suddenly had a _really_ bad feeling about this.

"Last evening she suddenly seemed to come out of – whatever was affecting her – and she immediately asked to speak to you. We had her under observation all night, but she insisted that we call you, so that's what I'm doing. She has no next of kin listed."

"Her name?" he asked faintly.

"Kristina Frye."

He tried calling Teresa, immediately after he disconnected, but her phone was off. When he next contacted Wylie, it was to be told that she and Cho were in a meeting with the District Attorney about a high profile case they'd been working on.

"Do you want me to interrupt?" the young agent had asked.

"No, just tell her I called," he answered. "I'll leave her a voice message too." He knew that the DA was a bit of a hard ass and he didn't want to make things uncomfortable for his wife. He called her phone again and left a quick message then slowly put his phone back in his pocket.

So now here he was, driving to St. Joseph's long-term care facility, to see a woman he hadn't thought of in a long time – which suddenly made him feel horribly guilty. She had no one and here they'd forgotten her, had gone on with their lives. He _had_ felt badly about Kristina, for a long time after Red John had taken her. But unlike with his wife, he'd refused to take on the guilt for what had been done to her. It had been her choice to ignore his warnings and she ended up paying the consequences. If anything, he'd had trouble not feeling angry at her for doing what she'd done, although he recognized how ironic _that_ was. He'd essentially done the same thing – but then he too had to spend the rest of his life living with the consequences of his actions.

But now it looked like she might be getting her life back and he had no idea how he fit in to that. He only wished she hadn't given them his name, a thought which made him feel even worse. He knew he was just being a coward – but that wasn't anything unusual.

The fact was, he didn't know quite what to think about the whole thing. Oh, he would be pleased for her if it were true – if she had returned to the living – but he really didn't want to get involved in her life. He had Teresa now – and a child on the way. He was happy, for the first time in years, and he didn't want or need a reminder of his life during his years searching for Red John.

And then, of course, there was the uncomfortable fact that he'd found her attractive and had gone on a date with her. She was the first person he _had_ dated after his wife and it had been a strange experience. He thought back to his encounter with Erica Flynn, in Beirut, and wondered if he should tell Teresa. Not that he would have dated her a second time. He'd quickly realized he had been far from ready to move on. Still, it made the whole thing that much more uncomfortable.

He pulled into the parking lot of the facility, and turned off the engine. He sat staring out the window, not really seeing anything, for a long time but knowing he couldn't put it off forever, he eventually pulled the key out of the ignition and got out of the car. There was no point procrastinating any longer.

As he walked towards the entrance he realized that his hands were shaking and sweaty and he rubbed them off on the legs of his pants. He hated feeling nervous like this. It was rare for him to feel this uncomfortable about anything. After he'd lost Angela and Charlotte little things just didn't faze him anymore, mostly because he didn't _care_ about anything. Things were different now, of course. He did care about something, about someone and he was beginning to realize that caring made it much more difficult to go through life unaffected by everyday things. And for some reason – which he didn't want to analyze – this situation made him very, very unsettled.

"Uh, I'm here to see Kristina Frye," he told the lady behind the reception desk. She scowled at him and gave an impatient sigh before looking at the book in front of her.

"Name?"

"Who, mine?" He decided he didn't like this woman and so decided to give her a bit of a hard time.

"Yes of course yours! We don't let just anyone in to see our residents."

"My name's not 'just anyone' so you should be fine to let me in," he told her.

The woman – Edith, the tag on her dress said, looked terribly confused. "I need your name."

Jane rolled his eyes but answered, knowing he was just putting things off again by trying to irritate this woman. "Jane."

"Now, you're just being ridiculous," she snapped. "Your name is not Jane. Unless you want me to call security, you will give me your proper name!"

Jane raised one eyebrow and then reached into his pocket for his wallet. He pulled out his license and handed it to her.

With another sigh she took it and looked at it – and immediately turned bright red. "I'm sorry Mr. Jane. I – uh – who did you say you were here to see?"

"Kristina Frye. Dr. Samrah called me this morning and asked me to come by."

"Oh, why didn't you _say_ so," she smiled, suddenly acting totally differently. "I'll just call him for you."

Obviously Dr. Samrah was a person of importance – either that or Edith had a crush on him. He looked at her closely and wanted to shake his head. She definitely was in love with the doctor.

It was only a few seconds before he saw a man come through a door behind the reception desk. He was a man in his forties, well dressed and immaculately groomed. He focused his attention directly on Patrick and walked towards him, a pleasant expression on his face. Yup, this was Dr. Samrah.

"Doctor," he said, holding out his hand.

"Mr. Jane. Thank you for coming. If you'll follow me I'd like to go over a few things with you before taking you to see Kristina."

"Of course."

He followed the man down a long corridor into a generic meeting room. There was a small, oval table surrounded by office chairs. On the wall was a dry erase board and there was a conference phone in the middle of the table. Other than that the room was bare.

"Here, have a seat," Dr. Samrah indicated one of the chairs. "So tell me," he said after Patrick was seated. "How do you know Kristina?"

"We worked together a few times," he said, not elaborating. "How is she?"

The doctor smiled, and Jane immediately recognized it as a psychiatrist's trick – a way to make the patient feel better, without actually committing to – or even saying – anything. But then he spoke.

"She's fine – physically at least," he was told. "It's her mental state that we're worried about."

"I thought you said she came out of her – the whatever she was in?"

"Were you aware of how she was found?"

"Yes," he answered, again without saying anything more.

"I see. Well yes, she did. And I admit it was a surprise to all of us. She hasn't shown any change since she was brought here. What do you know about her condition?" the doctor suddenly asked.

"That she was kidnapped and somehow made to believe she was dead," he said, not going into any further detail.

"Mm hm," he nodded. "It was very strange – I've never seen anything like it, and neither have any of the colleagues I've approached about her case. She would come out of the trance for brief periods, but only when we performed what she thought was a séance. I guess someone figured that out, although I've never been able to discover who that was."

Jane nodded, but didn't admit to being that person. Instead he simply commented. "She thought she was "communing with the living" so was able to answer questions."

"Yes, that's right, although she only seemed to be able to say a limited number of things before she shut down again. It was all very sad. From what I heard she was a lovely person before this happened."

"She was," Patrick nodded. "She was also reckless, and thought she knew better than anyone else" he said bluntly. "She taunted a serial killer, even when she was warned not to, and this was the result."

The doctor looked taken aback at his harsh words, and Patrick was sure Samrah thought he was a jerk. "Uh – there was no way she could have known that this man was going to kidnap her for that," he said gently.

"Yes – she did. He'd done it before and I warned her repeatedly not to do it but she wouldn't listen."

" _You_ warned her?"

Patrick stopped and tried to calm himself down. This was all much more distressing than he'd expected – even though he had known it wasn't going to be pleasant as soon as he heard she was "back". He hated himself at that moment. He should be happy for Kristina, so why did he feel so resentful.

"Yes. I - spoke from personal experience."

"Personal experience?" the doctor questioned.

"He killed my family," was all Jane said.

"Oh my goodness. I'm so sorry," Samrah said, looking distressed. "I had no idea. This must all be very painful for you."

Patrick shrugged. "I'm happy if Kristina is better," he said. "She was a good person and no one deserved what he did to her - and I'll do what I can to help but –this – it brings back memories."

"I'm sure it must," the psychiatrist said gently. "So let's get this over with as quickly as possible." He took a breath and then opened the file he'd placed on the table in front of him. "As I said, she hadn't shown any significant change since she was brought here – almost eight years ago now. Then last night one of the orderlies brought her her dinner – strangely she always seemed able to eat, even though she considered herself to be – uh – dead. Anyway, she looked directly at the orderly and thanked him for the meal. I guess he practically dropped the plate on the floor. Next she asked what time it was and then said she wanted to speak with you. In fact, it was just about the only thing she would say after that."

"Does she know how much time has passed since she's been here?"

"No, and we haven't wanted to tell her. We're worried that her emotional state may be rather – precarious. We don't know what really sent her into the state she was in, nor what brought her out of it. We felt that keeping things as stress free as possible, at this time, was best."

Jane nodded. "Where is she now?"

"They're bringing her right now to one of our observation rooms. She's been very calm and is cooperating with staff but she still insists that she needs to speak with you."

"Okay then – I guess I'd better talk to her."

"Mr. Jane, I would ask that you go carefully with her. It's probably best not to bring up how many years have passed. Instead just calmly try and get her to tell you as much as she can about how she's feeling, what's she's thinking, etc. I'll be watching and listening and we'll take it from there."

"Okay," he said, although his plan was to play it by ear with Kristina. He certainly wasn't about to lie to her.

He followed the Psychiatrist down a long corridor until they reached the residents' wing. He was slightly disturbed to see that the doors were locked, opened only with Samrah's security pass. "Is this a secure facility?"

"It is," the doctor answered. "We have Alzheimer's patients here and others suffering various mental illnesses. Some of them are in danger of wandering off so we have to be careful."

A short time later they came to a non-descript door – like all the others in the hallway. They walked in to a small entrance room with a one way mirror on the wall. Jane looked through it and could see Kristina sitting in the other room. He waited while Samrah knocked on the connecting door. After a faint 'hello' from inside the doctor opened it.

"Kristina, I've brought you a visitor." He stepped back and opened the door wide to allow Patrick to enter.

Kristina smiled – her big, joyful looking smile – and stood up with her hands held out. "Patrick! It's so good to see you."

Patrick stepped into the room, his eyes on the woman in front of him. He said a brief 'thanks' to the doctor but walked forward and took Kristina's hands. It definitely was Kristina Frye, although she looked noticeably older and thinner than the last time he'd seen her. Her face was pale – she probably didn't get out in the sunlight too often – and her hair hung limply by her face. He felt a pang of sorrow, remembering the attractive and vibrant woman she'd been. Now she just looked – old and worn.

"It's good to see you too Kristina. How are you?" While waiting for her answer he heard the soft 'click' of the door and realized that the doctor had left, although Jane knew he was observing through the one-way mirror.

"I'm fine Patrick," Kristina said, still smiling and still holding his hands. She regarded him closely for a moment, until her smile started to fade. "You're looking -"

He tipped his head to the side. "I'm looking -?" He knew she would have noticed that he looked different than the last time she'd seen him, but wouldn't be able to consciously understand it was the passage of time that had changed his looks.

"Uh – I don't know," she said, looking confused. She dropped his hands and backed away although a second later she smiled again. "It must be the light in here. Please, have a seat."

Jane carefully pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. He waited for Kristina to do the same, and then calmly looked at her across the table.

"So, how are you doing?" she asked gently.

"I'm fine Kristina – doing very well," he answered. "How about you?"

She tilted her head in a way that he remembered. "I'm good Patrick. You see, you were worried for nothing."

"Pardon me?" he replied, confused at her comment.

"You were worried that Red John would do something to hurt me, but I'm fine. I knew if I reached out to him that he would listen to me and stop hurting people."

Jane didn't quite know what to say – an unusual occurrence for him. "Kristina -"

"Patrick", she reached across and took one of his hands. "I want to get out of this place. I know you think you're protecting me by leaving me here, but I told you, I'm fine. Why don't we go somewhere and get something to eat and we can talk. I know you were angry at me for doing the TV interview, but it all worked out."

"Not for the reporter," he reminded her bitterly, and then could have kicked himself for his insensitivity.

She blanched at his words and he felt even worse. She'd paid for that mistake with years of her life wasted. He should be trying to make her feel better. He forced himself to calm down, still feeling on edge about this whole thing.

"I'm so sorry about that," she commented after a few seconds. "You were right, and I'll never forgive myself for that."

Jane didn't comment, just nodded. "I – think maybe you need to stay here for a while longer – just to make sure you're okay."

"Of course I'm okay," she laughed softly. "I feel fine."

"Kristina, what do you remember?"

"About what?"

"I mean – before - here, what is the last thing you remember?"

"Oh, that's easy. I was at my house – Grace, she's such a lovely young woman – she was staying with me, protecting me. I went to bed to take a nap." She stopped abruptly, her eyes losing their focus, as if she was trying to remember something. "Uh – I don't exactly remember what happened after that. I must have been tired when they brought me here. Then last night, at dinner I woke up and I knew I had to have them call you." She frowned, and suddenly looked lost. "What _did_ happen? Who brought me here?" She put her hand up to her forehead and closed her eyes. "I can't remember."

Patrick glanced at the mirror, wondering what the doctor was thinking and also wondering what he should be saying. It was clear that she had no notion that she had been here for years and he really didn't want to be the one to tell her.

"Patrick, I sense something – different about you." Kristina's voice interrupted his internal debate. She seemed to have lost interest in the fact that she couldn't remember how she'd gotten here and instead was focusing on him. "You seem – disturbed by something, but underneath that you're – happier, more settled. I don't sense the anger or the guilt you've carried around for so long. What happened?" She looked around at that, for the first time seeming to realize that it was just the two of them in the sparse room. "Where are we?"

"Kristina – look, they didn't want me to say anything to you. They're worried you'll have a setback or something but -"

"But what?" she asked, now starting to look slightly worried. "What are you hiding from me?"

"I'm not hiding anything," he said, although he wondered if that was exactly true. "The doctors just want to make sure you're going to be okay."

"Doctors? Why do I need a doctor? I'm fine."

"You weren't," he finally told her, glancing briefly at the mirror. "Red John put you in some kind of a trance."

"Don't be ridiculous Patrick. I understand your obsession with him, I really do. What happened to you – to your family – was horrible. But that doesn't mean he's out to get me. I'm _fine_."

"Kristina, he's dead," he said softly.

"Dead?" she looked startled. "But – what happened? When? How did you find him? I don't understand."

Just then the door opened, and Dr. Samrah walked in. "I think this is enough for now," he said carefully. "Mr. Jane, maybe you should come back some other time."

"No," Kristina said sharply. "Something is going on and I need to know what it is. I don't want to be here anymore. Patrick, will you take me out of here, please?"

He looked at the doctor, who shrugged. "Legally we can't keep her, but I strongly recommend she stay. Ms. Frye, you may not understand how – sick – you really were."

"Sick?" she muttered and stood up slowly, looking between the doctor and Jane. "I don't understand what's going on here – but I think you're trying to trick me for some reason. I want to leave _now_!"

Samrah sighed. "You need to hear everything, before you go," he told her.

"Doctor, let me tell her," Jane said softly, his eyes on Kristina. "It'll be better coming from someone she knows."

"Alright – but I'll be in the other room. Kristina, I'm here to help you – even if you don't see that yet." With that the doctor stood up and made his way out of the room.

Kristina ignored him as he left, instead she kept her focus on Jane. "What aren't you telling me Patrick? How did Red John die? And if he's dead why am I in here?"

He swallowed and took a deep breath. "Sit down Kristina. This is going to be difficult for you to hear but you need to remember that you're okay – everything is okay now."

"Just tell me," she whispered.

"You've told me you remember being in your house, and that Grace was there guarding you. Do you also remember that I got mad, and left?"

"Yes, you wouldn't believe me when I told you I'd be okay, that Red John wasn't going to come after me."

He nodded. "Later I felt badly about leaving – because I _knew_ Red John wasn't going to let what you'd done go. You see, I _knew_ him, or I knew what he was like. So I called Grace, just to make sure you were okay. When she went to look for you, you were gone."

Two lines appeared in Kristina's forehead. "What? I was gone? Where? Where did I go?"

"We didn't know. A suitcase and clothes were missing but we didn't know if you had left voluntarily or if Red John had taken you. Later on – he spoke to me and seemed to indicate that he had taken you."

"But if he had, I would remember it," she said. "I _know_ he didn't take me."

"How do you know?" he asked bluntly.

"I told you, I would remember it."

"No Kristina – you don't remember it. You _were_ taken by Red John – and he held you for months before they found you."

"No! No, that's not true," she said, her voice getting louder. "I've never met him. You're lying to me."

"No, I'm not lying," he told her gently. "We found you, but you were in some kind of – hypnotic state. We don't know what Red John did to you, but you were completely comatose when we found you."

"I don't – believe you," she sobbed quietly.

"I was only able to get through to you by staging a séance. You talked to me then."

"I don't remember," she said again, clutching her head.

"You told me you were dead," he informed her bluntly. "He made you believe that you were dead and the only way you could communicate was during a séance."

"No, no. You have to be kidding. This is crazy!"

"I'm not kidding you Kristina," he reached across and took her hand. "Look at me. You can tell if I'm lying, I know you can. This is all true. You were held by Red John, and he did something to convince you that you were dead. You told me it was peaceful, where you were. But then you went back into the – trance, or whatever it was and you wouldn't communicate with anyone when you were in that state. Eventually they brought you here, to this place, to look after you."

"NO!" she pulled her hand away and stood up, knocking the chair over. "I don't know why you're doing this Patrick. Is this pay back for me going on television? Are you so determined to hate me because I'm psychic? Do you resent me for that – for denying your own gifts and refusing to see mine?"

"Kristina!" he said urgently, "that's not it at all. Everything I've told you is true – you can ask Dr. Samrah." He looked toward the mirror and a moment later the doctor entered the room.

"I think we'd better take over from here, Mr. Jane. Kristina, please, calm down."

"No, no," she cried, backing away until she was up against the wall. "You're lying to me! Stop it Patrick, just stop it."

"I was worried this would happen," the doctor murmured. "Kristina, we're going to take you back to your room so you can calm down. Just relax and we can talk about this. Mr. Jane is leaving now – you don't have to speak with him anymore. Come now – let's just sit down here and you can relax. Would you like a glass of water?"

Jane stood up slowly, knowing that there was nothing he could do right now. "I'll go," he said quietly. "Call me if -"

"We will," the doctor nodded, his eyes still on Kristina. "And don't blame yourself for this. It's a natural reaction and we'll get her calmed down. And thank you for coming."

Jane didn't answer, he simply made his way to the door and quietly let himself out, with one last look at Kristina Frye.

He slowly headed towards the front, determined to get out of this place and away from the memories and the growing feeling of guilt. He knew that logically the doctor was right, but for whatever reason he felt as if her reaction had been his fault, as if he'd somehow been responsible for sending her to this place.

She'd lost eight years of her life – and he hated that she was going to be even more upset when she found out. He rubbed his neck, fighting off a tension headache, and wished that he'd never gotten the call that morning.

Before he made it to the doorway into the front of the building, it opened and in walked –

"Teresa?"

"Jane, are you okay?"

He knew he had to be strong – that she didn't need stress right now, not when she was so close to giving birth. But at this moment he needed her – and so he simply looked at her and didn't try to hide his distress. She opened her arms and suddenly she was holding him close to her. He could feel her love and her care for him and he felt himself relax into her embrace.

She didn't say anything at all for quite a few seconds, but finally she pulled back slightly. "What's wrong?"

He gave her a rather sheepish smile and kissed her on the nose. "Sorry about that. It's been a rather stressful morning."

"Kristina Frye?"

"Yes. She came out of it last night."

"She's back?"

"Mmm," he nodded. "Come on, let's get out of here. Did you drive?"

"No, Cho dropped me off. I saw your car and thought I'd get a ride back with you," she smiled at him and took her arm in his. They walked quietly to the car. She seemed to realize that he needed some time to get his thoughts together.

They got in the car, but he sat for a moment before starting it.

"Let's go home," she finally said, reaching out and covering his hand, which lay on the steering wheel, with hers.

With a grateful smile he turned to her and smiled and nodded. "I'd like that."

Soon they were back at their house. It was getting close to being finished, he just had a few more finishing touched. They'd moved in a couple of months before and he'd promised himself he'd have it all done by the time the baby arrived.

He took a deep breath and felt himself relax the moment he walked into the front door. This was his life now. Teresa, his soon to arrive child and the close friends he had made at the CBI and now at the FBI. These were the things he lived for – not for hatred, or anger or revenge. And Kristina Frye brought back all those memories.

"So, what is it?" Teresa asked, leading him to the couch in the living room. "Sit down Patrick, and tell me."

He spent the next few minutes telling her about his conversation with the doctor and then with Kristina herself.

"She doesn't believe that Red John got her. She doesn't remember anything about him," he said, sounding disturbed. "And she had no idea how long she's been there. She thinks she was just at home, with Grace their guarding her."

"Oh God," Teresa said, leaning back against the couch. "Did you tell her?"

"No. I tried to explain about Red John, but she got too upset. The doctor took over at that point. I don't know if he's going to tell her or not." He leaned over and put his head on Teresa's shoulder, one arm around her, and sat there, breathing her in. Her touch, her fragrance, her _presence_ continued to calm him down.

"I – don't know if I can tell her," he admitted. "How do you tell someone they've lost that many years of their life?"

"I think you should leave it to the doctors," his wife whispered, hugging him fiercely. "You shouldn't be the one to tell her Patrick. And what about family? Doesn't she have anyone? Why were you the one who was called?"

He sat up at her words, and took his arm from around her. This was the part he'd been hating.

"There's no one she's really close to – as far as family is concerned," he told her.

"Did the doctor tell you that?"

"No, she did. Before," he said, when Teresa looked puzzled. "We – went out on a date and she told me a little about her family."

"A date?" Teresa asked, sounding calm, although he could detect a certain – caution – in her voice. "I didn't know. I didn't think you liked her."

He sighed. "I didn't like that she pretended to be a psychic, but I admit I found her – attractive," he said. "But it didn't amount to anything."

"That's what you said about Erica," she reminded him.

"Yes, but in this case it's true. We went on one date – the most awkward date I've ever been on in my life." At his wife's inquiring look he grimaced. "My fault," he admitted. "I – wasn't ready to date, not then. In fact I felt guilty as hell for even _thinking_ I could go out someone. It didn't go beyond a dinner together – which ended when I was called to that case of the film students. And I knew part way through the date that it wasn't going to go anywhere, that I didn't _want_ it to. We didn't even kiss."

"Okay," she gave a gentle smile and snuggled up to him again. "I'm sorry that it was awkward," she told him.

"You are?"

"No, not really," she grinned. They sat companionably for the next few minutes, but then Teresa thought of something. "I bet that's why she called you," she murmured.

"What?"

"I think she liked you – I think she liked you a _lot_ ," she said. "I remember thinking that at the time. And she's looking to you now to come in and help her."

"I told you, it was just one awkward dinner. I'm pretty sure she figured out that it wasn't going anywhere."

"I think you underestimate your charms," she told him bluntly. "Why else would she contact you?"

"Because didn't know so much time had elapsed and thought we were still protecting her from Red John. Of course she contacted me."

"Maybe," she said, sounding unconvinced. "But it would have been more logical to get in touch with Hightower, or with me. I have a feeling that subconsciously she knows that Red John had her, that a lot of time has elapsed. I think she feels some kind of connection to you and needed to see you."

"I don't know why she contacted me, Teresa, but I can assure you that it wasn't because of some – relationship – we were supposedly having."

She knew that what he was saying was true, at least from his perspective. She had her doubts about Kristina, pretty sure the woman had been much more attracted to Jane than he suspected. He was an incredibly appealing man, on many levels, and had things in common with Kristina. It would have been a surprise if she _hadn't_ been attracted to him.

She just hoped that when the female psychic learned the truth, that she wouldn't contact Patrick again. "Okay love, I know," she kissed him on the cheek. "I think we should go to bed and forget about this. We need to let her doctors handle this from now on."

That night he lay, spooned up behind her, his hand on her belly. When he felt their child move he smiled. He had promised himself, when he married Teresa, that he would look only forward, never back. He snuggled into her, and was soon sound asleep, hoping that he no longer had to think about Kristina Frye.


	5. The Return of Virgil Manelli

_**Thank you so much for the lovely comments and reviews! I had hoped to get back to you all this time - but it's been a crazy week. Please know how touched I was and how glad I am that people seem to be enjoying this little series. I have a few more characters to write so watch for the next installment. Thanks!**_

He was in a bad mood. He should never have agreed to come. Initially he'd refused – absolutely, categorically refused to come. He wasn't about to leave Austin to help out the FBI in California and that had been the end of it.

And then Cho had asked him to do it for him, as a favor. Damn it, and they accused _him_ of being a manipulator! They needed to see Kimball Cho at work. He was the master of them all.

Because how could he possibly refuse Cho, the man who had been a faithful friend for so many years? How many times had Cho done things for him – sometimes things bordering on the illegal? How often had Cho had his back, even when he'd been – irritating? Okay, when he'd been a downright pain in the ass!

So no, he couldn't say no to Cho, so here he was on a plane, flying to LA.

Initially they'd invited both Teresa _and_ him, but when it had been explained to them that Teresa was on maternity leave, having recently given birth, they'd then asked Jane to come alone.

And he'd refused. His son was barely a month old and he didn't want to miss any days, or nights, watching the little boy grow. He'd lost his daughter, would never get to see her grow up, and he refused to miss out any of his son's life.

And Teresa needed him. She was doing amazingly well as a new mother, but it was hard. Little Michael still woke up at night to nurse so Jane made it a point to change the baby's diaper after he'd been fed. Besides that, he needed to cook healthy meals for Teresa and keep her company. He wanted to be with her, not in California dealing with some stupid case.

The FBI had contacted Cho and asked if they could borrow their Agent Lisbon and the Consultant Patrick Jane for a politically charged, sensitive case. The Governor had decided that it would be expedient to bring in outside help; agents completely unconnected in any way to any of the players.

He'd asked the FBI to find an agent or agents who would be most likely to solve the case, with the minimum of fuss. The answer had been Lisbon and Jane.

Patrick had to laugh at that. Teresa would certainly be able to tiptoe through a politically sensitive mine field – she was good at that, him, on the other hand? He wondered if they'd even glanced at his record.

So, after initially saying no, Cho had taken him out for a beer, which was a mean and sneaky thing to do. Jane figured his so-called friend had intentionally weakened his ability to say no, and then had pulled the "as a favor for me," out of his hat. "The scoundrel!" he muttered.

There was no way he could refuse, so here he was, on his way to Sacramento.

He was in a bad mood.

He arrived at the airport and his mood turned from bad to foul. It was crowded and the traffic jams were horrible. He waited forever for the shuttle to come to take him to the rental car place. When he finally got _there_ , he had to wait in line until he could get his car.

By the time he was done, and on the road, he was in a _really_ bad mood. He groaned as he pulled up to an intersection. He'd forgotten how bad California traffic could be. He really didn't want to be doing this.

And what made it worse was that Teresa had made him promise – _promise_ – that he would be careful and be on his best behavior. He was barred from playing any tricks on people, insulting anyone of importance and running off on his own without telling anyone. He was to stay close to the FBI agents and let them handle anything dangerous. He was supposed to _consult!_ "Meh," he muttered. "I could consult over the phone. If they want me to solve this case, then they should let me do it my way," he'd muttered.

Except he'd promised Teresa, and if there's one thing he'd vowed to himself, it was that he was never going to lie or break promises to her ever again.

She was his salvation, his _life_ , she and now Michael. He was not about to let her down.

But he was in a bad mood.

He arrived at the FBI headquarters after fighting traffic all the way there. He pulled into the underground parking and wished he could turn around and head home. He missed Teresa and the baby.

"Mr. Jane, thank you for coming." A man in a suit approached him the moment he entered the building. Ah, a generic FBI agent, thought Jane. How is it they looked the same no matter where you were? He shook the man's hand and said hello. See Teresa, I'm being good.

Agent Jeremy Carter took him to a conference room where he introduced him to other generic agents who were working the case. They spent the next hour telling him everything they thought he needed to know. He could tell by looking at them, that most of them were not happy he'd been invited onto the case. They looked at him in not-so-hidden contempt, sure that a consultant couldn't possibly do what they'd been unable to do for weeks.

The case involved the murder of a young intern – the adopted daughter of a prominent and very wealthy businessman, and friend and supporter of the governor. There were no suspects and the girl had been found naked and mutilated. The coroner suspected that she had been pregnant, and the fetus removed to prohibit identification of the father.

The businessman, Frank Macelli, was demanding answers and his friend the Governor came down hard on local law-enforcement. When the police hadn't been able to find anything, the case had been turned over to the FBI, who'd had it for over two weeks with no leads. It was then that Patrick had been brought in.

Jane looked around the room at the group of young, arrogant FBI agents and bit his tongue. Be good Patrick, he told himself. You promised Teresa.

"So Jane," Agent William Blair regarded him with a smirk. "What exactly does a consultant to the FBI do?"

"I consult," Jane answered with a smile.

"Yeah? But what exactly is that? You have us get in a circle and sing "Kumbaya" so we feel good about ourselves as a team?"

"Do you _want_ to sing Kumbaya?"

Someone sniggered and Jane smirked and continued to look at the file.

"Figured out who the guilty one is yet?" Blair asked after a few seconds.

The agent was young – he couldn't be more than thirty – and cocky. Jane thought back to his CBI team – all of them had been young when he'd started there, but none had been as arrogant as these clowns. They needed to learn a lesson.

"Agent Blair is it?" he asked. "I'm afraid I haven't had the time to go through everything yet. But you're smart right? Honors student, on the college debate team, joined the FBI because Daddy worried you were a bit of a sissy so you decided to prove him wrong. And now here you are."

Blair turned red, but before he had a chance to speak, Jane went on. "So I assume you checked out Claire Macelli's brother?"

"What?" Blair looked confused. "She didn't have a brother. She was adopted."

"And adopted kids don't have siblings? Well she did. Raymond Ellis is her brother. They were separated when Claire was five. He grew up in foster care after she was adopted."

"How do you know that?'

"By reading the file, which says she was taken away from her drug addicted mother at the age of five and a sibling was placed in foster care. After her mother gave up custody, Claire was adopted by the Macelli's. And of course all you have to do is look at the picture of Ellis and you can tell they were related."

"You can?" Blair grabbed the picture and looked at it. "I don't see it! And anyway, what does that have to do with anything? The only reason his picture is there is because the cause of death was similar. There's nothing that points to any kind of connection between the two."

"And _that's_ why you need a consultant," Jane told him with a cheeky grin. "I don't know what their connection means at this point, but it could be important, especially since Ellis was found dead only a day after Claire."

"Maybe," Blair was forced to concede, "but that still doesn't tell us who the person behind this whole thing is."

"No, that's true although you might want to bring Senator Anderson in for questioning."

"Yeah right," Blair laughed, "and flush our careers down the john!"

"Really?" Jane raised his eyebrows and looked at the assembled agents. "Hmm, well I guess if you're worried I can go to see him." Jane stood up and headed towards the door. "I assume he's at the State House? Does anyone have his room number?"

"Hey, no way," Carter said, jumping up and following Jane. "You can't just go and see a Senator."

"Why not?" Jane asked, stopping and turning. "Didn't the people elect him? Isn't he there to _serve_ the people? Aren't I one of the people? And anyway, I'm sure he'd like the opportunity to clear his name."

"Why would he want to do that?" Agent Lopez asked, looking confused. "He's not been implicated in anything. He doesn't have anything to clear. Claire Macelli didn't even work for him."

"No, but she knew him and he has a bit of a reputation where young ladies are concerned. So, he may not have anything to clear right now," Jane smiled. "But I'm sure he will – soon." On those words he exited the room, a whole group of stunned agents left behind.

"Uh – I'm coming with you," Carter said as he followed Jane out. "I'm been told not to leave you on your own."

"Really? Who's order was that?"

"We got word from an Agent T. Lisbon in Austen. Do you know him? Is he your boss?"

"Oh yeah, I know – Agent Lisbon. As for boss -?", he laughed He was really going to Teresa for this.

"Hey, do you know where you're going?" Carter asked as he followed him out of the elevator.

"Mmm. I used to live in Sacramento," he said, walking towards the front lobby.

"Come on, I'll drive you," the agent said, motioning for him to follow. "Were you with the FBI?" he asked.

Jane looked at him in surprise. "I was a consultant with the CBI," he said, wondering if the penny would drop and Carter would realize who he was. Anyone who had lived in Sacramento had to have heard of him.

"Really? Wow, I heard about them. I'm from Michigan – only came hear a year ago but I heard that the CBI was dismantled after they found a whole bunch of crooked cops had infiltrated it."

"Mmm – and the FBI and in government – it wasn't just the CBI."

"No? It was something, though, wasn't it. People still talk about what happened and about that serial killer – Red John – who was part of the corruption. I was told he got strangled. Some guy chased after him for years after his family was murdered and finally got him. Good riddance, I say. Were you here when all that when down?"

"Yes," he said shortly.

"Yeah? Did you know the guy?"

"Guy?"

"The guy who killed Red John. He also helped bring down the Blake Association. He was a psychic or something weird like that."

Jane wanted to groan. Cho _so_ owed him for this! "Not a psychic," he said. "There are no such things."

"You're not a believer huh?" Carter grinned as he opened the car door. "I don't know – I heard this guy was pretty amazing. He helped solve a lot of cases."

"Mmm, did he?"

"Yeah, that's what they say. I even heard one story where he actually buried a guy alive to make him confess. Of course I didn't believe it. No one could do that and get away with it, but it did make for a good story."

Agent Carter chatted all the way to the State House – which fortunately wasn't too far away. Jane wanted to either jump out of the car, or laugh. He'd become a legend in his own time. He'd have to tell Teresa.

"So, we're here. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go talk to the Senator and ask him about Claire."

Carter looked skeptical, but faithfully followed him into the State House. He was about to see a master at work.

By the end of the day Jane had gotten the Senator to confess that he'd seduced Claire Macelli and had gotten her pregnant. At the urging of her brother, Raymond Ellis, she'd tried to blackmail Anderson, which would have destroyed his reputation, his marriage and his political career.

The Senator had then arranged to have her killed, at which point Ellis had come forward, demanding even more money. Unfortunately his greed was greater than his intelligence and he'd ended up dead soon afterward.

Jane had closed the case in one day, to the dismay of the agents assigned to the case, and to the relief of the governor. He got a personal phone call from the man, which he couldn't have cared less about, although he'd have to tell Teresa he'd been on his best behavior and had responded appropriately. The call from Cho was different – he really did appreciate that one. And the call from Teresa was the best one of all.

"So, I heard the Governor is a happy man," she'd said. "He told the Director that you'd performed a miracle and found the culprit in less than a day."

"Pfft, it was easy. You would have figured it out weeks ago. I don't know who the FBI is hiring now, but they're not very bright."

"Yes, well if the Governor is happy, the Director is happy, which makes Cho happy – and makes him look good.

"Cho serves it. And no wonder the Governor is happy. This destroyed a major political rival of the Governor. Anderson was planning to run for Governor himself, and early polls showed him with quite a lead."

"Wow – you do think that he was guilty though?"

"Mmm hmm – absolutely." He chatted for a few more minutes with Teresa, and spoke to his son – who Teresa told him was listening on the speaker phone. He then told them both he loved them and clicked off his phone. He wished he was back in Austen.

He made his way out of the FBI building, planning to head back to his hotel. A couple of the agents – Carter and a guy by the name of Fields, who seemed pretty decent, had invited him out to dinner, but he'd declined. He didn't feel like being on his best behavior that evening.

He was in a bad mood.

"Patrick Jane – what brought you here to disturb our calm tranquility?"

He swung around, a grin on his face, when he recognized the voice. "Virgil! What are you doing here?"

Virgil Manelli regarded him somberly. "I heard that someone had come in and solved a difficult case in a few hours and had pissed off some FBI agents in doing it. I instantly knew it could only be Jane."

"I missed you too Virgil," Patrick replied, walking up and giving him a hug. He stepped back. "But how did you hear about it so quickly? You're no longer with law enforcement."

"Come on – let's go get a drink and I'll tell you about it. Oh, and you're paying." Once they'd arrived at a little pub close to the State House, Virgil found them a quiet corner and sat down. The two men ordered beers and then Virgil explained.

"The Governor is a fishing buddy of mine. Who do you think told him about your team?"

"You're telling me I have you to thank for dragging me out here, away from my family," Patrick asked.

"Yes." There was a pause. "Your family? Is there something I should know?"

Patrick looked puzzled. "You know about Teresa – that we're married?"

"Yes, I knew that, although I would like to point out that you did not invite me to the wedding, even though I was the one responsible for bringing you together."

"You were?" Jane sounded amused.

"Yes. Who saw the potential in you? Who hired you? Who gave you a chance when no one else would? Who had you report to Lisbon? All of those things led to the two of you getting together and I was the one responsible."

"But I must point out that you did nothing to try and encourage a relationship between Teresa and me. In fact it was years later before we became a couple."

"Yes, but I sewed the seeds! It was obvious, even early on, that Teresa felt something more for you than she felt for the rest of her team. I was definitely the one who brought you together." Virgil looked suitably proud of himself.

"Yes – well, thank you – and I'm sorry we didn't invite you to the wedding but there really wasn't time. It all happened rather suddenly."

"Mmm – okay," Virgil agreed. "Just don't do it next time."

"I don't plan for there to _be_ a next time," Jane said definitively.

"No, I don't suppose you do," Virgil answered, for once looking sincere. "But you said family – or did you just mean Teresa?" he asked, realizing he needed to change the subject.

Jane grinned and pulled out his phone. He turned it on and searched until he found what he was looking for and then handed it to Virgil. "Michael Charles Jane, three and a half weeks old and the pride and joy of his parents."

Virgil tilted his head back and pushed his glasses up peered at the picture of his former agent holding a newborn. He laughed softly and then handed the phone back. "Congratulations Jane. You have a beautiful family there."

"I know," Patrick said softly, staring down at the screen. "I miss them."

"I must admit, I never thought I'd see this day," Virgil mused. "I figured you were too -" he paused as if searching for the work.

"Obsessed? Crazy?"

"Irritating!" Virgil snapped back.

Patrick laughed. "It's a gift."

"More like a curse! _My_ curse. Do you have any idea how many complaints I had to field about you?"

"Yes. Teresa reminded me all the time. But if I was so – irritating – why did you keep me on?"

The older man considered him for a moment and then took another sip of beer, which almost, but not quite, hid his smile. "You solved cases, which made me look good. And you were amusing. Life was getting too predictable until you came along."

"I'm glad to have been of service," Jane raised his glass in a salute.

"Mmm." Virgil sat back and stared at the other man as if deciding whether or not to speak. Finally he leaned forward and looked earnestly at the man across the table. "I was actually going to say "damaged" he admitted. "You were a broken man when you first came to us."

Patrick looked down, not moving. A second later he took a breath, and his finger suddenly started tracing the rim of his glass.

"Yes, I was," he answered, so quietly the other man could barely hear. "Still am, in some ways," he admitted with a grin, although his eyes remained serious. "But Teresa – brought me back."

"I believe she did," Manelli nodded. "But you know that you were the saving of her too, don't you? She was much more interesting after you came alone."

"Was she?" Jane grinned. "I'll have to tell her you said that."

"Don't you dare!" Virgil glared at him. "You and she are a lot a like. She was almost as obsessed as you, although in a different way."

"Her work?" Jane asked, although he knew the answer already.

"Mmm hmm. Lisbon always felt she had to save the world – and then you came along and she was so busy keeping you from getting killed, getting others killed, or ending up in jail that she no longer had to obsess about the job. So, you see, not only was I responsible for bringing the two of you together, I was indirectly responsible for providing you with an entire new outlook on life!"

Jane laughed – suddenly glad he'd come to Sacramento. He'd forgotten how much he liked this man. "I guess I owe you one Virgil," he gave another salute with his beer.

"That you do," Manelli nodded. "I suppose I should say that coming out here and solving this case helped cancel _some_ of the debt."

"Just some?"

"Don't be greedy Patrick. And the Governor is a friend, but not _that_ good a friend."

"But you made me leave my wife and new son," Jane reminded him.

Manelli sighed "True. I understand now why you weren't happy to have been brought here for this case. And here I thought you'd enjoy a chance to get back to Sacramento."

Jane looked around briefly. "Maybe I would have if it wasn't for Teresa and the baby. And I don't really know too many here anymore – except you," he chuckled. "Do you know, I was talking to one of the FBI agents here, and he asked me if I'd ever heard about the Blake Association or Red John. He had no idea who I was. I must admit it was refreshing."

"I imagine it would be. What did you say?"

"Not much, just that I'd heard about it. That – chapter – in my life is closed and I didn't want to get into it. But enough about me. Tell me, how are _you_ doing? Still spending all your time fishing?"

This time Virgil reached for his phone and hit the screen a few times. A few seconds later he handed it to Jane.

On the screen in front of him was a picture of May – but she wasn't alone. Sitting with her were two children, who looked to be about eight and ten years old.

"So, you and May?"

"Mmm hmm – married two years."

"I don't remember getting an invite to the wedding Virgil."

"Touché," Virgil chuckled. "We just went to the court house. No guests."

"Congratulations, she's a great lady. And I would like to point out that I was _directly_ responsible for getting the two of you together. So the truth is that _you_ owe _me!"_

"Okay fine," Manelli said, rolling his eyes. "Let's say we're even."

"Uh uh," Jane answered with a smirk. "Sorry. You still owe me."

"You haven't changed, have you?"

Patrick grinned. "Or, you could tell me who the two young kids are in the picture, and _then_ we'll call it even." the former consultant told him.

Virgil looked down again at the picture, and smiled. "May always wanted children. We're too old, of course, so we decided to take in foster children. These are Veronica and Octavio."

"Foster kids? Good for you Virgil."

"Actually, we were able to adopt them," the former agent said. "Best thing, after May, I ever did." He chuckled. "She's now saying we should take in some more kids although I keep telling her I'm really too old for this but she just sighs and rolls her eyes. I expect we'll have at least a couple of more to live with us."

"So, grumpy old guy with a lovely wife and a household of kids? I couldn't be happier for you Virgil. You deserve this."

"Thank you Patrick. So, you see that everything worked out just fine. Getting Hannigan to hit you was probably one of the smartest things you ever did."

"I have a knack for it," he said, unconsciously rubbing his nose. "But yes, I thought so."

"Don't tell me you planned it?" laughed Manelli.

"Well – I didn't plan to get hit but once I had, I quickly saw the – opportunity."

"I don't know why I didn't figure that out. But at least we both benefitted from it."

"I wonder what ever happened to him?" Jane mused.

"Hannigan? Oh, he got fired. Got mad at an Assistant DA over some case and broke his nose. I hear he's a mall cop now."

"Poor guy. That's what happens when you let anger control your life."

"Yeah, I guess. So, you headed back to Texas right away?"

"Mmm hmm. They wanted me to stay and do some interviews but I told them no. I'm heading back tomorrow morning."

"I'm glad we had a chance to get together."

"Me too," Jane gave a sweet smile – one he reserved for true friends. "And give my love to May. If you guys ever get out to Texas, look us up."

"Thanks. And give _my_ love and congratulations to Teresa – and tell her how much I admire her courage."

"She is courageous – but I assume you're referring to something specific?"

"She took you on for over ten years and then married you. That takes real courage."

Instead of laughing, Jane's expression became serious and he looked down. A moment later he lifted his head and regarded Manelli. "It does – more than you'll ever know. She – saved me." He paused. "But so did you Virgil – and for that I want to thank you. I may have sounded glib about it, but you hiring me, working at the CBI – that gave me a purpose in life other than vengeance. And it gave me friends and – a future with my wife and child. I can't really ever repay you for that, so – thank you."

Virgil stared back at him, his face somber, his eyes full of some deep emotion Jane knew was a combination of compassion for what he'd gone through, pleasure that Jane was now happy, and pride in him for how far he'd come.

A slow and lop-sided grin appeared on Virgil's face. "Yes you can. You can buy me another beer."

Patrick grinned in response and he nodded. "Bartender," he called, "another beer for – my friend."


	6. The Return of Erika Flynn

"Jane," Cho called for him as he walked past the senior agent's office with his cup of tea.

"Cho!" Patrick turned and headed back, stopping in the doorway to Cho's office. "Nice to see you. What's happening in the hallowed hallways of the FBI?"

"It's been quiet," his friend said. "How are Teresa and the baby?"

Jane grinned – his happiness evident for everyone to see. "They're doing great," he said. "Samuel slept for almost six hours straight last night so Teresa's feeling much happier this morning."

"I'm glad to hear that - and thanks for coming in. I know you'd rather be home with them."

Jane took a sip of his tea and then grinned. "Yes, although I'm always glad to see you Cho. So tell me, what _did_ bring me in, besides you I mean?"

Cho sighed and waved Jane into his office. "Sit down." He waited until his consultant – part-time now, unfortunately, and friend had sat down. He watched him for a moment – only when Jane raised his eyebrows did he speak.

"I have a favor to ask," he admitted.

"A favor?" Jane frowned. "What kind of favor? If you want me to introduce you to Jenna, the file clerk who has a crush on you I'm happy to do so."

"No – nothing like that," Cho said seriously. He sighed and then took in a deep breath. "I got a call from the Director to tell me the FBI has received a tip about a major drug trafficking operation. Manuel Torres -"

"Mexican cartel?" Jane asked.

"Yeah," Cho nodded. "The reports we're hearing are that Torres has gone into business with Jerry Schwartz – he's a businessman from Houston with rumored ties to the drug trade."

"Okay," Patrick nodded. "And so what do you need from me?"

"The informant who told us about the operation wants to speak to you. In fact, we don't have any further information than what I just told you. The Director wants you to go and speak to this person and find out more details so we can stop these guys."

Patrick Jane was good at reading people – very good. In fact that's how he'd made his living almost his entire life. It had also saved his life on more than one occasion. It was an ability that was so much part of him that he didn't even think about doing it anymore – it just happened naturally. So it wasn't surprising that he'd already picked up on the fact that Cho was uncomfortable about this whole thing – _very_ uncomfortable. That meant that whoever wanted to see him was probably someone _he_ didn't want to see.

He narrowed his eyes and stared at the man that had been his friend and teammate for many years now. "Who is it?" he asked bluntly.

Cho sighed. "Erika Flynn," he answered, not quite meeting Patrick's eyes.

"Erika _Flynn?_ No, no way," Jane answered, standing up and heading towards the door. "I don't want to have anything to do with her."

"Look, I know, but this is important -"

"They're _all_ important Cho," he answered, rolling his eyes. "The FBI can find out the information some other way. I am done with that woman!"

"Jane," Cho frowned, standing and leaning forward on his desk, "please."

"No," he said, more than firmly, refusing to be sucked in by Cho's uncharacteristic pleading. Suddenly he stopped. "Wait – she's not here is she?" he asked, looking slightly panicked.

"She's in Houston – at the woman's prison there."

"Damn it! Why Texas?"

Cho shrugged. "Not my decision. Probably because this is where Torres and Schwartz are planning to set up their operations. They do have her in maximum security though."

"At least that's good," Jane relaxed, sounding somewhat relieved. "I thought some idiot had agreed to let her go."

"No, she's not going anywhere. She's considered a major flight risk after escaping once before."

"So why is she doing this? Because Erika Flynn does _not_ do things out of the goodness of her heart."

"I don't know. I expect she's hoping for a reduction in her sentence or an opportunity to move to a medium security prison. I don't know why she's asking for you though." Cho suddenly stopped, a furrow between his brows. "Do _you_ have any idea why she'd want to contact you? I would think after Beirut you'd be the last person she'd want to see."

"Mmm, me too" Jane answered, "I have no idea either, but I don't like it. And if they move her to medium security prison, she'll escape," Jane said. "She's smart."

"Well, you said you're not going to see her, so I wouldn't worry about it. They'll have to find the information some other way."

"Yes, they will," Patrick agreed, walking to the door. He paused and looked back at Cho. "You're not going to trick me into doing this you know. I am planning on spending my time with my wife and month-old son, not worrying about that woman."

Cho's lips quirked into a rare and fleeting smile. "I didn't figure you would, but I have to tell the Director I tried."

"Yeah, I know - the Director. Was that the only reason you wanted me to come in?" he asked.

"Mmm hmm, although if you want to -"

Jane shook his head. "I'll see you at the house for dinner on Saturday evening," he replied. "Now I'm going home to my family." With a small wave he left Cho's office and headed toward the kitchen, where he cleaned out his cup and replaced it in its spot in the cupboard.

"You in to work today?" Tork asked from behind him.

Jane turned around and regarded the diminutive agent. "Nope, headed home."

"How are Teresa and the baby?"

"They're great," he said, smiling. He'd actually gotten to like the former CBI agent, although he still enjoyed teasing him. Tork was one of those people who he could always get a rise out of. In a way he kind of reminded him of Wayne Rigsby – a much _shorter_ Wayne Rigsby.

"Good. So, are you in for Cho's review?"

"Cho's what?" Jane asked with a frown. "What review?"

"It's his annual performance review. The Director asked a few of us to fill out a questionnaire about him. All of us really like him, but I'm kind of worried that it's not going to go too well."

"What? Cho's an amazing agent. Why would there be a problem?"

"Because the department results have gone down since Teresa left on maternity leave – and you started working part time. You guys solved a lot of cases together. And Wylie's a good kid, but he's still learning the ropes. It's not Cho's fault – _we_ all know that. Everyone likes him and has a lot of respect for him and he's doing a great job but he just doesn't have the results that Abbott had, at least not yet."

Jane could feel his heart sink. He wished suddenly that he hadn't run into Tork. He could have been out of here not being any the wiser. But then a moment's pang of guilt stopped him. He owed Cho a lot – his life in fact. The least he could do was give something in return.

"What if Cho's team solved a major case?" he asked.

"A major case? Yeah, that would be good. I mean he got a lot of kudos for catching that serial killer at your wedding and another big case would probably do the same. But there aren't any big cases right now, at least none that I know of."

Jane cursed silently but then turned and headed towards Cho's office.

"Hey," Tork called after him. "What's going on?"

But Patrick ignored him and instead knocked on the senior agents door – and then opened it before the Cho had a chance to respond.

"Okay fine – I'll do it!"

He grimaced slightly as he made his way to the front door of his house. He glanced around as he mounted the front stairs – the view of the pond and the trees helping him to relax. He loved this spot – it made him feel at peace with the world, something he hadn't felt for a long time before this last year.

He stopped for a moment on his front porch and simply looked at the nature filled vista in front of him. He didn't think he'd ever told Teresa why he liked this place so much. The fact was, it reminded him of a magical spot he'd seen as a child.

They had been on the road with the carnival when his father had decided to take a slight detour on the way to their next stop. He had parked their small trailer by a pond and he and his parents had spent the night there.

He remembered his mother waking him up the next morning, her hand in front of her lips, cautioning him to be quiet. She'd then led him by the hand outside – where together they'd watched the sun rise over the pond.

It was one of the few memories he had of his mother and it had always been special – but something he hadn't thought about for many years. She'd died shortly after that in a car accident.

But the moment he'd seen the pond the memory – and the feelings it invoked – had come back and he'd known this was the place he wanted to settle down. This place meant family and love and peace – something he'd missed for so many years.

His lips turned up and, with a rush of contentment, he opened the door. He wanted to call out for his wife but instead made his way quietly inside. He didn't want to wake the baby, in case he – or Teresa – was sleeping.

"Hey," he said softly, spying her on the couch, a sleeping baby in her arms.

"Hey you," she said quietly back. "How was it?"

"Meh," he shrugged his shoulders. "How's Samuel?"

"Beautiful," she answered, giving her son a soft kiss on his downy head. "He's also been an angel."

"Ah! Takes after his -"

"Uncle Cho," she interrupted with a grin. "How were things at the agency?"

"Oh, you know. Cho looked inscrutable, Jason looked like an eager puppy and Tork – well - ", he paused.

"Jane!" his wife warned.

"Actually, I realized today that he kind of reminds me of Wayne."

" _Tork_?"

"Okay – a short Wayne. But he has that – gullible quality about him."

She laughed. "You're right. Poor Tork – and poor Rigsby!"

"Why poor. You know they love it when I tease them."

She giggled. "Sure they do." Just then the baby made a soft noise and began to wriggle.

"Here," his father said eagerly. He reached out and took the now awake child, gently cradling him in his arms. "Hey you," he said, giving the baby a gentle kiss. "Were you a good boy?"

The baby stared at him, his tiny fists waving in the air. Soon his mouth puckered and he cooed. The next moment his fist went into his mouth and he began to suck on it madly.

"Is he getting hungry?" his loving father asked.

"Pfft," his wife made a rude sound. "Probably – that child definitely takes after you! I just fed him an hour ago and he's probably going to start looking for more any minute now."

"Us Jane's like to be well-fed," Patrick answered, looking down at his son. "Isn't that true Samuel?"

"So, what did Cho want?" Teresa asked as she watched the lovely sight of Patrick holding their month-old child. She never got tired of looking at the happiness on his face whenever he looked at their baby – or at her for that matter. She remembered wondering, many times in the past, what Patrick Jane would be like without the tragedy that had consumed his life. Now she knew – and she couldn't help but smile.

She heard Jane sigh and was concerned when she saw his expression change. "What? What happened?"

"Nothing _happened_ ," he assured her. "It's what he wants me to do."

"What does he want you to do?"

He closed his eyes but then opened them almost immediately. "There's been a report of a major drug ring that's planning on setting up a major trafficking route from Mexico."

"And?"

"The person who told them about it won't give any more information – except to me."

"To you?" she asked, puzzled. "Why to you?"

"It's someone I know – someone we _both_ know, actually."

He sounded hesitant, which immediately got her "what's Jane up to" nerves going. It was something she hadn't needed to use in a long time. "Who is it?"

He closed his eyes briefly and grimaced. "Erika Flynn."

"That bitch?"

His eyebrows lifted at Teresa's words – and tone. Rarely did he hear her quite so – vehement – about someone. "I take it you don't like her?"

"And you do?" she asked, sounding slightly belligerent.

He held up his hand – the one not holding the baby – in defense. "No, not at all. In fact I responded much the same way when Cho told me. If I never had to see that woman again I'd be happy."

"So then – why are you looking so glum?"

"Well -," he went on to tell her the story of Cho's evaluation. By the end she was looking a bit more accepting, although still not happy.

"So you're going to go and see her?" she asked him.

"I wanted to see what you thought first," he told her.

She sighed and leaned her head back against the couch. "We need to do anything we can to help Cho. He deserves it after everything he's done for us."

"I agree," Patrick nodded. "So you're okay if I do this?"

"Well, not _okay_ exactly, but I agree you should go. Just promise me -" she stopped.

"Promise you what?" he frowned. A second later he answered his own question. "I'm only going to see her briefly and I promise I won't fall for any of her tricks. Look, I know what she's like and that she can't be trusted. And I want to get back to you and this little guy as quickly as possible."

"Do you want me to go with you?" she asked suddenly.

"Of course I want you to go," he told her. He moved over until he was right next to her on the couch. "But you just had a baby a few weeks ago Teresa. I don't think you – or Samuel – should be traipsing around the country. And what would you do when you got there? There's no way you're taking Samuel into a prison with you."

"I just hate the thought of you anywhere near that woman. She was in love with you, you know."

He looked vaguely uncomfortable, so to hide the fact he rearranged the baby on his shoulder and kept his eyes turned away from his wife.

"Patrick?"

He sighed. "I don't think Erika Flynn is capable of love," he finally answered. "She had some kind of – crush on me, I agree, but that's all. I think it's because I saw through her and she's not used to that and it intrigued her. I assure you that I don't feel _anything_ for her – other than dislike."

"I know," she smiled and leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You know I trust you, don't you? I'm just worried about you having to deal with her again."

"I'll go and come back quickly," he promised. "The less time I have to spend with her – and away from the two of you, the better."

As he waited for the security guard to open the gate he couldn't help but smile. He still had trouble believing how lucky he now was. He had another family – a gorgeous wife who loved him and a beautiful son. He knew he didn't deserve either, but he wasn't going to let that stop him from appreciating the life he now had.

"Come with me," a guard told him. Patrick glanced around as he followed the man, thinking to himself that all prisons looked, and felt, the same.

He remembered his times spent in prison and again felt a wash of gratitude that he hadn't ended up in one permanently. There had been a few times when he thought he _was_ going to end his days in one and, at the time, it hadn't particularly bothered him. The only thing he would have been upset about was not getting Red John – other than that it wouldn't have mattered. He was in too much pain, and full of too much guilt to care where he spent his life.

But now – things were different and he wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible and return to his home by the pond in Austin – home with his wife and son.

"Have a seat. Ms. Flynn will be brought to you momentarily."

He nodded and sat on the metal stool and looked through the glass to where Erika would soon be sitting. It was cold and stark – and he was sure she must hate it here. Erika Flynn was a woman who liked her comforts and prison life must be galling.

A moment later the metal door opened with a clang and there she was, dressed in an ugly prison jump-suit, her hair pulled back in an unflattering pony-tail. In no time she was seated opposite him.

She simply looked at him for a few seconds, her hand not taking the phone. He watched her as well, studying her face and her expression to see if he could find out what this was about.

The first thing he noticed was that she had aged. It was surprising, since it had only been a year ago that he had seen her. But now she looked tired and pale. He guessed that prison life didn't suit her.

Finally she smiled and her face transformed. It was that same smile that promised that she, Erika Flynn, found you fascinating – that all her attention was on you. She had a way of making people believe that she cared, that you were special to her.

He knew it was all a lie.

"Patrick," she said into the phone, "it's nice to see you."

"Erika," he answered back, but without a smile. "Why did you want to see me? I thought after our – last – encounter you would have had enough of me."

"Really?" her eyebrows went up. "But Patrick – we are kindred spirits, you know that. I've always believed our destinies are intertwined."

This time _his_ eyebrow went up. He wondered if she could read him to see how he felt about her – drivel.

"But that sounds rather melodramatic," she laughed. "I guess I just wanted to see you again. How are you doing?"

"Fine," he answered shortly. "And you?"

She grimaced and shrugged her shoulders. "I can't say that this is a place I would have chosen to live," she told him.

"But you _did_ choose it," he told her quietly. "That's what happens when you murder someone. And I'm afraid you'll be here for a long time."

"Really?" she smiled. "Patrick, you always were so – cynical."

"Not cynical – realistic. What do you want Erika?" he asked. "I have other things I'd rather be doing."

"Really? You have something – or should I say _someone_ waiting for you?" she said, sounding bitter.

He didn't answer – he simply waited for her to speak again.

She sighed. "Tell me – are you and Teresa still together?"

"Yes," he nodded. "We are."

She glanced at his hand, which was holding the phone, and her forehead puckered. "You're married."

He glanced at the ring and smiled. "Yes – we are," he repeated.

"You didn't heed my warning," she said softly – her eyes turning dark with some hidden emotion. He suspected it was anger.

"What – that Teresa and I wouldn't last?" he asked. "Erika, you think you know so much about love and relationships – but you were _so_ wrong about us."

"I was?" she smiled – and this time it was not a pleasant expression.

"Mmm – you said that I was attracted to Teresa only because of her goodness. Well, that is true – she is a good person and that appeals to me – greatly I might add. But that's not the only reason I was attracted to her – _am_ attracted to her. She's smart, she's strong – she has a great sense of humor and she's one of the most compassionate, caring women in the world."

"My, isn't she wonderful," Erika said bitterly.

"You seemed to think that what I wanted was someone - you I guess – who would give me a life of exotic adventure. That we would travel the world and do whatever we wanted, not thinking of anyone but ourselves. Well guess what Erika – that's the _last_ thing I want. Because you see, what I really wanted, more than anything – is what I have with Teresa – a home and a family."

"You'll be bored in a year," she told him. "And we would have been amazing together."

He laughed and shook his head. "You are so wrong. Life is more exciting, more _fun_ with Teresa Lisbon than it ever could have been with you. Because you know what else attracted me to Teresa?"

"What?"

"That she will never, ever betray me," he said softly, looking at her directly. "I can trust her with my heart and with my life. And you my dear – could never give me that."

She stared at him for a few seconds and then finally, she nodded. "You're right, I couldn't." She sat for a few seconds, the phone still held to her ear but her expression stark in the dim light of the visiting room.

"I really loved you Patrick," she told him, the honesty of her statement seeming to throb through her words. "But you're right – in the end I probably would have betrayed you." She smiled a faint smile. "But it would have been fun while it lasted."

He just shook his head, a small smile of his own on his face. "You know, you have this picture of me as some kind of wild adventurer but I'm not. I'm pretty much a homebody. My favorite thing is to spend time with family and friends or putter around fixing up my house. You would have died of boredom with me."

At that her head tilted and she regarded him carefully. A short time later her brows furled. "You know – I think you're telling the truth."

"I am," he nodded.

She shook her head. "Who would have thought? The wicked, mysterious Patrick Jane is really just Mr. Boring. I must admit I'm rather embarrassed. I completely misread you, didn't I?"

"Mmm hmm, I'm afraid so."

"And you're really happy with Teresa?"

"Yes."

She sighed. "And I suppose you're planning to have a kid and buy him or her a dog?"

"We haven't managed the dog yet," he told her. "We might start with a cat."

"And the kid?" she asked softly. "Jane!" she suddenly looked at him – and this time there _was_ pain in her eyes. "You had a child, didn't you?"

He nodded. "He's a month old and the joy of my life. So you see Erika – there's nothing you can say that will make me believe I won't be happy with Teresa. We _are_ happy and we're going to stay that way. There is nothing that I want or need that I don't have. Now, _what did you want_?"

Jane let himself into his house – it was late and he didn't want to wake Teresa or the baby. He'd refused to stay in Houston overnight and instead had driven home. It had been a long day, but in the end Erika had given them the information they needed and a unit was already moving in on Torres and Schwartz. Cho was getting the credit for his team having solved the crime

It had been a strange day. He hadn't wanted to see Erika and even now felt somehow – soiled – having spent time with her. There was something evil under all her charm and warmth.

At least she was being shipped back to California the next day. He prayed he would never have to have anything to do with her ever again.

He changed quietly and slipped into bed beside Teresa. She made a small sound and the next thing he knew she was snuggled up against him.

"How'd it go?" she murmured, still half asleep.

"Fine – we got the information we needed."

"Mmm – good." There was a pause while he was sure that Teresa had fallen back to sleep. But then she spoke again.

"And Erika Flynn?"

"Same as always," he sighed. "I told her how much I loved you and she finally seemed to get it. I plan to never see her again."

"Good," his wife muttered. "And I love you too. Now go to sleep!"

He grinned – and then that's exactly what he did.

What he didn't know – and never would – is that Erika Flynn cried herself to sleep that night.


	7. The Return of Susan Darcy

_**I really struggled with this chapter – and am not very happy with the end result, but decided to post anyway. I didn't really like Susan Darcy, although I did feel some sympathy for her in the show. Jane didn't treat her very well – and I can't imagine her guilt after killing Wainright. Anyway … here it is (for what it's worth).**_

She was the last person he'd expected to see. Not that he'd really expected to see _anyone_ \- anyone he knew that was. He'd come as a favor to Cho and he'd hoped to get it over with quickly and then leave.

Cho and his team were busy with an important case in Austin otherwise he would have sent one of them. Teresa – and here he smiled to himself – was still home on maternity leave with their new baby boy. That pretty much left him.

He was semi-retired from the FBI now although he still helped with occasional, hard-to-solve cases. For the most part he was enjoying finishing their house and, of course, spending time with his family.

Still, he owed Cho a lot so he'd reluctantly agreed to come. It was only for a day – he could fly in, do his presentation, and then fly out that evening. He refused to spend even one night away from his family.

The annual FBI National Academy Conference was being held this year in Dallas and he had agreed to give a workshop on some of the more basic techniques he used in solving crimes. He figured it wouldn't do much good – most agents, he'd discovered, were too impatient or too arrogant to actually want to learn the things that could help them. But he'd go – as a favor to Cho – and try to make the presentation as interesting and entertaining as possible.

He'd started out strong – if there was anything he knew how to do, it was play to an audience. It was about 10 minutes in, when everyone was engrossed in what he was saying, that he saw her.

And he had to admit that it threw him. He stopped talking and for a few moments completely lost his train of thought. After taking a drink of water to try and regain his equilibrium he continued. He was pretty sure no one noticed, except possibly her. She always was observant. He just hadn't thought he would ever see her again.

Susan Darcy. The FBI agent who had refused to believe his story that Timothy Carter was – the man he was after. The agent who suspected he was somehow in league with a serial killer – and who had ended up killing a fellow agent because of that belief.

The rumor had been that she had had a nervous breakdown and had quit – or was fired – from the FBI. But seeing her here today gave the lie to that. Oh, she may have had a breakdown, but she was obviously still working for the Feds.

He somehow managed to get through the rest of his presentation, and fortunately the crowd seemed to enjoy it. Only he knew it wasn't one of his best. In fact, it was one of the poorest he'd ever done. He wasn't quite sure why, but seeing her there brought back all sorts of stuff he'd thought he'd dealt with.

Once the session was over a few people came up and spoke to him, wanting more information and asking him if he did any further training sessions. He got a few people's contact information but finally everyone had left for the lunch banquet – everyone but Susan Darcy, who had sat quietly until everyone was gone.

"Jane," she said, moving slowly towards him and sounding exactly as she had all those years ago. "I'm surprised to see you."

"Susan – I can say the same about you," he told her, his voice even and clear. At least he was a master at keeping his feelings hidden. "I didn't know you were still with the FBI."

"I almost wasn't," she answered. "Killing a fellow agent doesn't look good on your record."

He simply nodded, not sure what else to say. He glanced at the door, not wanting to prolong the meeting.

"Mmm. So, what _are_ you doing here?" she asked bluntly.

He glanced around the room and then raised his eyebrow. "Uh – giving a presentation. It must not have been my best if you couldn't figure that out."

"I mean what are you doing with the FBI," she asked him, sounding impatient. "I thought you were on the run after killing Red John."

Jane had to stop himself from flinching. That was a name he refused to think of anymore – and it was never mentioned in his household or at work. It was a different – and fortunately finished – time in his life. He refused to be dragged back down into it.

"No," he said simply. "As for the FBI – they offered me a job. I'm surprised you didn't know that."

"Mmm," she replied, blinking. "No, I hadn't heard. I've been working in Montana for the last few years. And I decided to – concentrate on my work there."

"I see," he nodded. And he did understand. Like him she had decided to move on with her life and let go of a terrible time. She had probably intentionally stayed completely out of touch with anything to do with him or the CBI. He tilted his head and looked at her carefully. "So, what brought you here today?"

"This conference," she replied. She gave a small smile. "I was asked to represent our field office and I thought it was – time."

"Time?" his eyebrows went up.

"Time to stop hiding."

"And I'm sure you didn't expect to see me."

"No," she laughed, although it sounded more bitter than happy. "No I didn't. I couldn't believe it when I saw your name in the program. I thought it must have been a mistake, although I was pretty sure there could only be one Patrick Jane."

He didn't know what to say, which wasn't like him. He didn't feel guilt about what had happened – he had done what he could to protect her, and she had made her own choices – but he did feel badly. And if he were to tell the truth, he also felt some residual anger towards her.

Agent Darcy had chosen not believe his lies and had then decided that if he was lying then he must also have been in league with _him._ Her obsession and determination that he was working with a serial killer (if he wasn't the killer himself) had led to the death of an innocent Luther Wainright. She had also been responsible for destroying his own plans and had extended the time it took to find and kill Red - _him_. As a result many others had died.

So it was with real ambivalence that he regarded her now. He chuckled softly – he was pretty sure that what she felt for him went _way_ beyond ambivalence.

"Why are you laughing?" she asked.

"Sorry," he said again. "I'm not really laughing. Just thinking about the ironies of life."

She was silent for a moment and then nodded. "So, you're working for the FBI. That is ironic. How did you manage that after killing a man?"

He could have pointed out that she was doing the same, but decided that would be too cruel. Instead he gave her a shortened version of the truth. "They offered me a pass if I worked for them. I guess they thought I was more valuable with them than on a tropical island somewhere. And frankly, everyone was relieved that - he was dead."

"I see. It figures. You always did get what you wanted."

At that he frowned, suddenly feeling irritated. "What I wanted was justice for my family and all the others he killed," he said. "And I got it – eventually, and certainly no thanks to you. I don't apologize for that."

"I don't call what you did justice," she replied.

He shrugged, showing her how little he cared.

"What happened to Agent Lisbon and her team?" she asked suddenly. "I suppose they all got off too?"

"Got off?" he asked her sharply. "They were – _are_ good people, good agents. They did nothing wrong."

"Nothing except let you do what you wanted."

He laughed at that – a genuine laugh. "You think so? I'm afraid they didn't _let_ me do anything. I chose my path. If anything they worked hard to keep me in line."

"Agent Lisbon was besotted with you," she said. "She would have let you do anything."

He chuckled again. "Well, it's nice that you think she was besotted, although I must say she hid it well. Most of the time she was irritated with me. As for letting me do anything I wanted – you didn't know her very well."

"Maybe I didn't," she agreed. "I heard the CBI was disbanded because of the Blake Association. So what happened to her?"

"She works for the FBI too."

"Really? I'm assuming you had something to do with that as well. Do you still work with her?"

"Yes, although not so much anymore. I'm only working part time and she's -"

"She's -?"

"On leave."

"Really? Why is the great Teresa Lisbon on leave? She didn't cause someone _else_ to shoot an innocent person, did she?"

His eyes narrowed. "Don't take out your own guilt on her," he said. "She had nothing to do with what happened. That was your own choice. She tried to _stop_ you!"

He could see Darcy's jaw clench and the flash of her eyes, but then she relaxed slightly. "You're right," she finally acknowledged. "That wasn't fair of me. So – why _is_ she on leave."

He nodded slightly, acknowledging her admission. "She just had a baby," he told her, unable to _quite_ keep the pride out of his voice.

But she didn't seem to notice. Instead she just blinked in surprise. "A baby? Teresa? Wow, I didn't - I thought – she seemed to be focused on her career."

"She is," he said. "Can't a woman do both?"

"Of course," she nodded. "I mean – she just seemed to be _totally_ focused on it – and you." This time her lips went up in a small grin. "So, she's – with - someone?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"I'm sorry. I expect that was difficult for you," she said, sounding not at all sympathetic.

"Not at all," he told her. He knew he should just _tell_ her, but he couldn't help but string her along a little bit. She kind of deserved it.

"Oh?" Her brows went up. "That's – nice of you. I guess I didn't think you'd – uh – want her to be with someone else."

"I didn't." He paused and then rolled his eyes. "That's why I married her."

"You – _married_ her _?_ And – the baby?"

"Mine of course. A son. He's a month old."

He paused as she regarded him closely – appearing to look at him slightly differently, although he couldn't quite tell what she was thinking. He wondered if the lack of sleep from having a newborn in the house was affecting his ability to read people. Then suddenly Darcy seemed to deflate, the tension leaving her body and her eyes. "And you're happy?" she asked, her voice softer than it had been.

He nodded. "Yes, I am," he said softly, suddenly reading a faint bit of hope in her eyes. Jane didn't really like Susan Darcy – he didn't hate her either – but he certainly hadn't lost a lot of sleep over her. At the same time, he recognized what she must be feeling – the guilt, the anger, the self-hatred, and knew he couldn't let her go on this way. No one deserved to live with that for the rest of his or her life. He knew that from experience.

"You can be happy again," he told her clearly, looking directly at her. If it wasn't clear if he was talking about himself or her it really didn't matter, because she understood what he was saying.

"You can?" she asked, sounding doubtful.

"Mmm hmm. You _can_ go on. You can live again."

"How," she whispered, the pain shining clearly from her eyes.

"It's not easy, especially when you're full of guilt and self-hatred," he said gently, knowledgably. "But when you let that go, life can bring you joy."

She shook her head slowly. "How can you let go of those things? How can you just stop remembering, stop _dreaming_ about what happened, dreaming over and over again?"

"Time," he said. "Time and – it may sound like a cliché – but love. Both of them have tremendous healing power, if you let them."

"And you have let it all go? You don't suffer anymore? You don't grieve or feel guilty?"

He sighed, his hand clenching the back of a chair. _Why_ had he run into her? "Not all of it," he answered honestly. "Of course I still – feel - things," he admitted, although he didn't want to bare his soul to this woman – to anyone in fact. It wasn't the way he dealt with things. The only people he'd ever really opened up to were Dr. Miller, a bit to Danny and, of course, to Teresa. "But that's not my whole life, not anymore," he continued. "I have the love of a beautiful woman and am father to a gorgeous baby boy. Life isn't perfect, but it's good."

She watched him for a few seconds, almost as if she were trying to see whether or not he was telling the truth. He wanted to be gone from here. He wanted to get back to Teresa and their son and not think back to that dark and hopeless time.

"You really _are_ happy, aren't you?" she asked wonderingly. "After everything you've experienced and seen and done. I wish I had your gift," she said at the end, with a sigh.

"My gift?" He was pretty sure she wasn't talking about some kind of supposed psychic gift. At least he hoped not.

"To let things go."

He snorted at that, which had her looking at him with some level of both curiosity and irritation. "I chased – him - for ten years, _ten_ years. That's not exactly letting go."

"No," she sighed. "I guess it's not. But eventually you did and – here you are."

"Yes," he nodded. "Here I am." He regarded her seriously and then decided to do the right and honorable thing, the thing that Teresa would want him to do. "It wasn't your fault Susan. It was a mistake – an honest mistake. You need to let it go and get on with your life. I promise you, you _can_ find happiness again. Instead of spending your time wallowing in guilt – take what you've learned and – do better with your life. It won't make the guilt go away completely, but it will help."

"Is that what you do? Are you trying to be a better person?"

"Yes," he gave her a small, crooked grin. "I have to be or Teresa wouldn't put up with me. And – I'm a father again and this time I want to be a good one. I – can't go through what I went through again. I can't hurt the ones I love so I'm doing everything I can to do better."

"You know, I'd kind of like to be around to see that." At Jane's considering look she snorted. "I said _kind of_. I think I'll stay in Montana for now."

She slowly turned towards the door, but then stopped and looked back. "I'm – pleased for you Patrick Jane and I'm glad you're happy. Congratulations on your marriage and child."

"Thank you," he smiled and gave her a small, one fingered salute.

"And tell Teresa she has my sympathy." With that she turned and was gone. Jane couldn't help but laugh. She'd gotten in the last word.

Oh well. He could give her that. After all – he had a beautiful wife and child waiting for him. Suddenly, and for the first time, he felt terribly sorry for Susan Darcy. He hoped she would one day forgive herself – and find the happiness he had found.


	8. The Return of Marcus Pike

He decided to wait in the small park around the corner. Teresa said she would be done by 5:00 and then they would go out for a nice early dinner. That was the good thing about DC, he thought. They had great restaurants to choose from in the downtown area.

He was tired. They had travelled all over the Capital that day – seeing the sights, including a good portion of the Smithsonian. The Natural History Museum had been a favorite and they'd spent a long time there. It had also been cool inside the museum – the heat could get unbearable in DC in the summer.

The Mall had also been a favorite. He'd brought a blanket and they'd had a picnic lunch, sitting on the grass and watching all the people go by. They'd gotten a lot of attention, of course. They always did.

Jane smiled. There were some days when he couldn't believe how happy he actually was. He hadn't expected it – had thought that life was only to be survived, not lived. But he _was_ living it now – to the fullest. And he knew how very lucky he was to be able to say that once more.

He looked down and grinned. Yup – they'd had a great day, but now the babies were flaked out. He almost wished he could join them. Pushing a stroller around, and looking after two tiny toddlers by himself, was exhausting … but wonderful.

Teresa was in DC doing a week-long training, which would move her to a higher pay bracket. Not that they needed it – but he knew it was something she wanted so he had encouraged her to come. She had insisted that she would only do it if he came with her, and brought their children. She refused to be apart from them for a whole week, especially as she was still nursing them in the morning and at night.

Emily Charlotte Jane and Matthew Daniel Jane were almost 12 months old, and were the joy of their parent's lives. Little Emily had big blue eyes, fine blond hair, and a serious expression she'd inherited from her mother. Matthew, on the other hand, sported curly brown hair, green eyes and a smile that charmed – just like his father. The two of them had their parents wrapped around their little fingers, and, if truth were told, most of the FBI agents in Austin – especially their Uncles Cho and Wylie.

Jane looked at the two of them with pride and with so much love it sometimes felt like his heart would burst. He really didn't know what he'd done to deserve them, or Teresa. He could only figure that the universe that had taken so much from him, had decided to finally give something back.

He was pretty much a stay-at-home dad these days, and he loved it. He knew that Teresa found it hard to leave them to go to work each day, but also that she trusted him completely to look out for them. And they adored their mother, usually squealing with delight when she returned home at the end of the day.

And for the first time since he'd known her, Teresa didn't work late but instead hurried home to be with her family.

Yes, life was good! Jane sighed and glanced down at the sleeping children. They'd gone hard today – laughing and pointing at all the new sights and sounds. The animals at the Natural History Museum had delighted them and he hadn't been able to resist buying them each a cute little shirt and a stuffed animal. Teresa would give him trouble since they already had a room full of cuddly toys.

Emily and Matthew had run around – or toddled and crawled around – the mall until they'd both flopped down, exhausted. He'd quickly put them in their double stroller and watched as they'd fallen into a deep nap.

He glanced at his watch and stretched. Teresa should be here soon. He wondered what she'd like for dinner.

"Jane?"

He glanced up, a frown on his face. He'd recognized that voice, but hadn't thought he would hear it now, here. "Pike."

The agent glanced down at the stroller and then back at Jane. "Yours?"

"Yes," he nodded, wondering if Pike could possibly not have heard. "They're a year old – Emily and Matthew."

"Congratulations." Marcus Pike looked much the same – which shouldn't be surprising as it was less than two years since he'd seen the man. "I hadn't heard." He glanced at Jane's hand, which was resting on the back of the park bench. "So – married?"

Jane nodded, his lips slightly pursed. "Yup."

"Congratulations again. Uh – I'm assuming - ?"

"Teresa? Yes, we're married. I'm surprised you didn't know," he said bluntly, although he tried to speak gently.

Marcus gave a self-conscious smile. "I had heard something, but didn't pay much attention. I - figured it was best to move on. I assume you're both still in Austin?"

"Mmm hmm," he said. "We've settled in – new house, etc. How are things here in DC?"

"Oh, you know. It's the capital – always something interesting going on."

"Right," Jane nodded again. The conversation was particularly awkward and he hoped that Marcus would leave soon. It was going to be even more awkward if he was still here when Teresa arrived.

Just then Matthew began to squirm and a moment later his eyes popped open. His forehead crinkled in a fierce frown and he looked around. The moment his eyes found his father his face erupted in a huge smile. "Da!" he cried, his arms going up.

"Hey you," Jane laughed and reached down and unstrapped his son from the stroller and lifted him up. The little boy continued to smile.

"He's a charmer," Pike said, indicated the toddler with a nod of his head.

"Yes, he is," Jane agreed. "And he knows it!"

Pike's eyebrow went up. "Like his father, I guess."

Jane didn't know whether to take Pike's words as a compliment – or an insult. He was pretty sure he _wasn't_ being complimentary, but decided to accept the words at face value. "That's what Teresa says," he agreed. Okay - so he wasn't a saint. He _did_ want to make sure the other man knew he and Teresa were solid together. Not that he needed to worry – but his male ego was in play. "And he's kind and good like his mother," he said, giving his son a kiss. "Aren't you Matthew?"

That caused his son to giggle and to grab onto his shirt. The little boy looked around, seeing Pike and giving him a big smile.

Marcus took a swift breath, a fleeting look of pain in his eyes. "He looks like Teresa – even if he has your smile."

"Yup," Jane smiled. "No doubt whose children these are."

"So, you did - have a plan," Marcus said after a couple of seconds. "You were married and had a family pretty quickly."

Jane didn't answer, knowing he didn't have to justify himself – or his relationship with Teresa – to this man. Not now, not ever. Still, he could afford to be magnanimous. After all, he did win Teresa, and by the looks of things, Marcus still had feelings for her.

"We fell in love," he finally said. "There was no plan – just two people who had been friends for many years developing a deeper relationship."

"You're lucky," Pike told him.

"Yes – yes I am," he agreed. He smiled down at Matthew. "I'm the luckiest man in the world." At that moment his daughter – who took after Teresa in that she liked to sleep, woke up. He wanted to laugh as he watched her nose twitch and an expression of irritation cross her face. Yup – just like Teresa, she tended to wake up crabby when over-tired.

"Hey sweetheart!" he said to the little girl. "Did you have a good sleep?"

She stared for a moment at her daddy, and then slowly a smile appeared on her face. Her four little white teeth showed and she gurgled in delight, her arms going up, asking to be picked up. Like her mother, she couldn't resist this man who was the center of her world.

Jane shifted Matthew, putting him carefully down so that he was holding on to his knee, and reached over and unstrapped and picked up Emily. It was a good thing he'd had training as a magician – because juggling two toddlers was a feat.

"She's gorgeous," Pike told him. "Uh – can I help?"

"Thanks, I've got -" Jane stopped as Matthew turned and took two unsteady steps towards the FBI agent. He almost did a face plant – but before Jane had a chance to respond, Pike had grabbed him and steadied him. He received one of Matthew's smiles in return.

"God Jane – you and Teresa make cute kids!"

"Yes, we do," Patrick grinned, suddenly feeling much more positive about Marcus Pike. "But they keep us busy."

"I'm sure they do," Marcus laughed. He picked up Matthew and grinned at him. The little boy grinned back and started to babble.

"Hey!"

Jane glanced over to see Teresa walking towards them with a smile. She obviously hadn't seen Pike yet, her eyes clearly on her husband and little girl. "Did you all have fun today?"

"We did," he said, kissing her back. "Uh Teresa -".

Before he had a chance to finish his warning, Teresa had looked up and spied Marcus Pike holding her son. She blinked a couple of times – the picture so incongruous she wasn't quite sure what to make of it. She finally took a swift breath.

"Marcus!"

"Teresa," he smiled, and leaned forward to hand the suddenly squirming boy to his mother. "I ran into Patrick a few minutes ago. Uh – congratulations."

She frowned slightly, although then she smiled down at her son and gave him a kiss. "Hi Matt! Mommy missed you." A babble from her daughter caused her to turn and bend over for another kiss to her. "Hi sweetie," she told her daughter. "I missed you too."

A couple of seconds later – after giving her husband a questioning look – she stood and turned back towards Pike. "Thank you. We're very lucky."

"Yes, you are. They're cute kids Teresa. I – hadn't heard, but I'm happy for you."

"Thank you," she said again, smiling a little self-consciously. "How are you doing?"

"Oh, you know. Working hard as ever. I'm enjoying the job. There's more room for advancement here, at least in my area. And – uh – I'm seeing someone."

"Really?" Teresa frowned, but also looked slightly relieved. "I'm so happy for you Marcus. What's her name?"

"Amy. She's a teacher and she's really nice." He gave Patrick a quick look and then shrugged. "Reminds me a bit of you, actually."

"Oh." Clearly Teresa didn't know what to say, so Jane jumped in. "You always did have good taste," he told the other man. "And congratulations to you too."

Emily proceeded to start to bounce in her father's arms, a clear signal that she was getting restless – and probably hungry, thought Jane. He glanced at his wife, who answered with a nod.

"They're getting hungry."

"I should let you go," Marcus said with a smile. "It was nice to see you both – _all_ of you. And congratulations again. You have a great family."

"Thank you Pike," Jane said, this time with a sincere smile. He really was a decent guy – and Patrick felt much better about him, especially since the agent was seeing someone. "It was good to see you. Good luck with the job – and with Amy. I hope things work out."

Pike considered him seriously for a moment and then nodded. A small, crooked grin appeared. "So do I. Teresa," he said with a brief nod. "Nice to see you. Your children are beautiful and I'm happy for you."

"Thank you Marcus," she said gently. "And I'm happy for you as well. It was nice seeing you."

They watched as the FBI agent walked slowly away. Teresa then turned to her husband, her eyebrow raised. "Well, that was strange."

"Yes – but better than last time," he said, still watching Pike walk away. "I think seeing the babies helped him get past you."

"What?" she frowned. "I'm sure he was over me a long time ago."

"No," he shook his head. "He still had feelings for you. But seeing you with a family – I think he's finally realized you really have moved on, and that it's time for him to do the same. He's a decent guy."

"He is," she nodded, but her eyes were on her husband. "But he's not nearly as interesting or as sexy as you," she told him. Teresa leaned forward and kissed her husband and grinned. "And he will never be the amazing father you are. So, my dear husband, where are you taking us for dinner because I'm starving!" Since both their children were starting to look disgruntled, Patrick knew that she wasn't the only one. He quickly packed everything away and buckled the children in and started rolling the stroller towards the entrance to the park.

"There's a great little Italian place just a block away. Let's try that. And by the way – I love you and you're the best wife and mother a man could have."

She smiled and linked her arm with his – and together, with their family, they headed to dinner.

Life was good for the Jane family.


	9. The Return of Charlotte Jane

Jane was both happy – happier than he'd been in years – and exhausted. He grinned at himself – knowing that he was also rather loopy as a result of both states. He looked over at Teresa – who was sound asleep – and smiled. He then looked in the bassinet beside her and his eyes misted over.

Aiden Christopher Jane, 7 lbs 9 oz, was 2 hours old and already the joy of his parents' lives. He'd taken his time coming into this world, hence the exhaustion – but had arrived healthy and whole – thus the happiness. Teresa had been in labor for almost 33 hours, and Jane had been with her the whole time.

Of course he knew that to compare his exhaustion to hers wasn't fair. He hadn't had to do the hard work she had done, so he felt guilty even admitting to being tired. He looked at her again - sleeping the sleep of a woman who had just brought a new life into the world.

He smiled when he remembered that incredible moment when he'd caught the slippery, squirming body of his son in his hands. He couldn't describe how he'd felt at that moment, only knowing that his life had come full circle – how or why he'd never be able to explain. He was just grateful that it had.

He knew he should probably head home and shower and change – he'd been in the same clothes for almost two days – but he was so tired he just wanted to rest. Maybe if he closed his eyes for a few minutes he could then head out. He needed to be back at the hospital in the morning to take his family home.

His eyes drifted shut but the smile remained on his face.

He took a deep breath of fresh air and stretched. It was so beautiful here – sitting beside their pond with the trees dipping their leaves into the sparkling water. He felt a sense of peace wash over him and closed his eyes.

"Here you are," the bright voice interrupted his musings and he blinked and looked up, to see his daughter standing and grinning at him. Before he had a chance to speak she lowered herself beside him, her knees bent and her arms wrapped around them.

"Nice day," she said cheerily.

He looked at her suspiciously. "Yes, it is. Uh - what are you doing here?"

"Well _that's_ not a very nice thing to say to your own daughter," she replied cheekily. "Don't you want me here."

"Of course I do," he told her, trying to get a handle on what was going on. "I just wondered – why here, I guess?" he gestured towards the vista in front of them.

"You tell me," she told him. "You're the one who picked this place. _I've_ never been here before."

"Oh – okay." Jane picked up a leaf beside him and began to play with it. "So, how have you been?" he asked casually.

"Me? I'm fine. The question is how are _you_ doing?"

"Um – good, I'm doing good."

Charlotte regarded him closely and then nodded and grinned. "I think you are – _finally_ ," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"Hey – no need to be sarcastic!"

"Okay fine," she said with a grin. "But you know it's true. It took you long enough."

His expression turned sober and he stared out to the water. Finally he spoke. "Do you think that losing you and your mother was something I should have gotten over quickly?"

His daughter sighed and straightened her legs. "We know it was because you loved us so much, Dad," she said softly. "It's just – we hated to see you like that. You drove yourself for a long, long time – and for what?"

He turned to her. "I told you – for _you_ , for your mother and you – to get justice."

"Or vengeance," she said, looking him directly in the eye.

He paused again, and finally nodded. "Yes, and for vengeance."

"And was it worth it?"

At this he let his head drop onto his uplifted knees and thought about her question. It wasn't a new one – but rather one he'd asked himself many, many times. Had a ten year hunt for his family's killer – and then his final act of revenge – been worth it?

"I don't know," he finally admitted. "But I'd do it again," he told her with a small smile. "You know – and certainly your mother knew – that I can get -"

"Obsessed?" Charlotte interrupted.

He gave her a dirty look. " _Focused_ on things. And anyway, I didn't do it just for vengeance. I also wanted to stop him from continuing to kill and torture others."

At that his daughter nodded and again looked out over the water. "Well, I'm glad it's over."

"So am I."

"And now you're happy?"

He smiled – this time his full blown, _real_ smile. "Yes, I'm happy. I – didn't expect to be, ever again." His lips straightened out and he turned towards Charlotte. "I don't want you or your mother to think it's because I don't still love you -"

"Stop!" Charlotte said. "We know that Dad. We know you'll never stop loving us – but we love you too and we _want_ you to be happy. We want you to let us go – at least the sadness and guilt. Just remember the happy times with us, okay?"

"I'll try," he told her, his throat tightening with emotion.

"Remember when we went on that picnic together, just you and me? We went down to the beach and laid down a blanket and I pulled out all of my tea things. I remember you sat with me and drank tea out of a little cup – and you _hated_ tea."

He swallowed. "I don't now," he told her. "It reminds me of you."

"Really?" she grinned. "That's kind of cool. Patrick Jane drinking _tea_! But I do remember you loved those strawberry tarts Mom made. You ate the whole box!"

"Yeah, I remember," he told her, his eyes glazed as he thought back to that magical time.

"And remember my tricycle? I loved that thing! I'd zoom around on it all over. I just wish I'd gotten to ride a big bicycle."

"Your mother and I were going to buy you one," Jane told her, his voice breaking. "We – I never - it was too late."

"It's okay," Charlotte told him. "You'll have another chance."

He frowned and opened his mouth, but she interrupted.

"Oh, not with me! I don't need that kind of thing now, to be happy. I mean – you'll have the chance with someone else."

"Someone else?" At that precise moment Jane heard a sound beside him. He turned, confused, to find a tiny, swaddled baby wriggling on a blanket beside him. He was sure it hadn't been there a minute ago. "What?"

"Pick him up Dad, before he cries!"

So Jane carefully picked up the squirming bundle and looked into the unfocused, silvery gray eyes of – _his son!_ Oh God! How could he have forgotten his son? He held the little boy up to his face and kissed him, his heart filled with wonder and love. He turned to his daughter and again felt that same wash of love. "My son," he told her, and then his face bloomed into a smile. "Your brother."

She grinned and peeked down at the baby. "Cute! Looks like me except he's got dark hair. Do you think it'll be curly like yours?"

"I hope not!" he said, laying his cheek against the velvet soft face of the baby.

"Ah, I think that would be cute!" Charlotte laughed. She leaned over and stroked the tiny hand of her baby brother. "He's a lucky little boy," she said.

"Why?" Jane looked at her curiously.

"Because he's got you for a Daddy," she said. She looked up at her father, her expression serious for once. "You were you know, a good father – a _great_ father. I know you don't think so, and I know you feel guilty, but you have to let that go. What happened wasn't your fault. So – just love him, okay?"

He could feel the sting of tears, but he nodded. "I will," he whispered, "I do. And I love you so much Charly – I just wish -"

"Yeah, I know," she smiled. "But it's okay. I'm happy Dad – and so is Mom."

"Really? Are you really?"

"Yes. Don't you understand - _you're_ happy – so _we're_ happy? For a long time you pretended, but we all knew that inside you were in pain. But now – well it's obvious that things are good. So now, we can just love you and we can – rest. We don't have to worry about you anymore – and you don't have to worry about us." She leaned forward and gave her father a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Just love my brother – and love Teresa, okay."

"You know about her?"

"Mmm hmm. I figured you were sweet on her the last time I was here. And I knew she was in love with you – otherwise she wouldn't have put up with you all those years!"

"Hey!"

She grinned. "It's true! Oh, and Mom likes her too. She wants you to know that you did good in falling in love with Teresa. She said there aren't many women who could handle you – but that she can." She stopped for a moment and then gave her father a gentle smile. "And she said that Teresa is lucky to have you to love her – that you're a good man and you were a wonderful husband and father."

Jane blinked rapidly and looked up to the sky, trying desperately not to break down. He felt Charlotte lean forward and nestle her face in his neck, her arm around him. "I love you Dad," she whispered.

He closed his eyes and breathed her in. His little girl! He then felt the warm bundle of his son in his arms, and felt at peace.

"Patrick – Patrick - _Jane!"_

He woke up, startled, and took a sudden deep breath and opened his eyes. He was sitting in the chair by Teresa's bed and she was looking at him tenderly.

"You fell asleep," she told him. "I was worried you'd get a kink in your neck."

He blinked to clear his eyes. "Hi," he finally said, his voice gruff with sleep. "Hey Mom! How are you feeling?"

"Me?" she smiled. "I'm fine. A bit sore and a bit tired, but mostly wonderful."

He smiled back at her and then stood and leaned over and kissed her. A sound made him turn to glance in the bassinet, where his son was, his face all red and crumpled up.

Jane laughed and picked him up just as a piercing cry reverberated throughout the room. "I think someone is hungry!" he said.

"Like father like son," Teresa said, adjusting her bed so that she was sitting up and unbuttoning her gown to feet him. "Come here you," she said to the baby as Jane handed him to her. "Let's see if we can figure this out together!"

Jane watched in awe as his wife fed their child. He was still half groggy – but a feeling of _rightness_ , of peace and contentment filled him. He glanced up and smiled.

"Thanks Charlotte," he whispered. "I love you too!"


	10. The Return of Karen Cross

"Good morning everyone!" a happy sounding Jane walked through the FBI bullpen, headed towards his couch. "How is everyone this fine morning?"

Wylie swiveled on his chair and grinned. "Hi Jane. I'm good. Guess what? I've been asked to present a seminar to the Cyber Crimes division on the Edwards case. I get to go to D.C."

"Good for you Jason," Patrick told him. "That's what you get for being our resident computer genius."

"I don't know about _genius_ ," Wylie shrugged, looking embarrassed, "but it's a great opportunity. How's Teresa?" he asked, changing the subject.

Jane grinned. "She's doing great. A little tired still, but other than that – she's good."

"Say hi to her for me."

"I will."

"And give the baby a kiss from his uncle Jason."

"You'll be able to see him later," Jane told him. "Teresa is coming in."

"Oh good," the young computer genius answered. "I bet he's getting big."

Jane chatted for a few minutes more about his favorite subject – his wife and son. He still had trouble not going around with a constant grin on his face. He hadn't been this happy in years.

The baby was just six weeks old and already had his parents wrapped around his little finger. Fortunately he was a happy baby – and Jane grinned thinking about seeing his son's first smiles just that morning.

The rest of the morning was made up of briefings on the new case as well as listening to Tork, Wylie and Cho all deliver various theories on who the guilty party was. Jane just listened quietly, not contributing anything to the conversation. Today was the first day he'd been in all week and he hadn't yet heard all the details about the case. He needed to spend some time thinking about it before putting forward his own observations. He was pretty sure that the guys were on the wrong track, but he didn't want to say anything yet until he had all the facts.

Teresa would be so proud of him, he thought with tenderness at the thought of his wife. He was much more circumspect these days – and much less secretive or tricky – at least with his colleagues. His attitude to the guilty or powerful or self-satisfied hadn't really changed and he didn't expect it would. He had no tolerance for bad or stupid people and he refused to pretend respect where he had none.

Everyone had gone back to their respective desks after the briefing, and Jane wondered if he should go and have a talk with Cho, to tell the Senior Agent his theory. He was starting to learn to share things more readily, and found that his colleagues got less irritated with him than they used to. Some days though he missed the opportunity to confuse and confound people. But the life he now led more than made up for any loss of impish fun.

"Jane, the front desk just called," Wylie said to him, his hand over the phone's mouthpiece. "They said there's someone here to see you."

"To see me?" Jane asked, surprised. He had no idea who would come to the FBI to see him. He wasn't working any cases right now, and had no idea what it could be about. "Did they say who it is?"

"Uh – yeah. It's someone by the name of Cross, Karen Cross. Do you want me to tell them you're not here?"

Jane pushed himself up in surprise. What the heck was Karen Cross doing here? Somehow he had the feeling he didn't want to know, but he quickly realized it was better he find out. He didn't trust the woman as far as he could throw her.

"No. Tell them to send her up. I'll speak with her in the interrogation room," he sighed.

"Okay," Jason told the person at the front desk, although his eyes remained on Patrick. He could obviously tell something was up.

Jane stood and made his way to the elevator, crossing in front of Tork's desk. The diminutive agent had stayed on the team after Abbott left and although Jane couldn't say he was close to him, not like his other teammates, he definitely got along with him better now. Especially after Teresa had read him the riot act about not tormenting the poor guy.

"Everything okay?" Tork asked as he walked by. Jane could discern nothing but concern in the man's voice. He really was a pretty decent guy.

"Everything's fine," he answered automatically. "Just an old acquaintance coming to see me."

"Okay – let me know if you need anything."

As Jane walked away he realized that he needed to spend some time with Tork. He might actually add him to his small circle of friends.

Just then the elevator dinged and the doors opened – and out walked Karen Cross. She appeared much the same as the last time he'd seen her, although there were a few more crow's feet around her eyes. Still, she had that same gleam in her eyes meaning she definitely had some purpose in mind – probably something he wouldn't like.

"Hello Karen," he said as she walked towards him. "It's been a while."

"Hello Patrick. It's nice to see you." She looked around the office. "You've come up in the world since your CBI days."

"Mmm – I guess so. So, you wanted to see me about something?"

"Yes I did. Is there a place where we could talk privately?"

He nodded and ushered her into one of the glassed in meeting rooms. He waited until she sat and then took the chair opposite her. He simply looked at her, waiting for her to begin the conversation.

"I heard about what happened," she started, "with you and Red John."

He nodded. "I thought you might."

"Congratulations. You did a good thing."

He shrugged. "I did what I had to do. I don't think it was good – or bad."

"Well, _I_ think it was great. He deserved to die."

Patrick didn't say anything – there wasn't really anything he could say, or wanted to say. That period of his life was over, and the last thing he wanted to do was to revisit it.

"Patrick," she leaned forward and spoke to him earnestly. "I read everything I could find about what happened, although there wasn't as much information as there should have been. The FBI covered a lot of it up."

He continued to watch her, not saying anything. He had a bad feeling that he knew where this might be going.

"And the public has a right to know," she said. "He infiltrated every level of law enforcement, the judiciary, the Attorney General's office, the Governor's office – every government office in California – and he killed dozens of people at the same time. And yet very little of anything has been written about him. And I think that's wrong! I think the world needs to know and I'm going to write a book about him."

"Other people have written about him," he pointed out. "And the Blake Association was in the papers for months." He'd avoided reading too much about it, but even on his island the news had surfaced. It had been quite the scandal.

She snorted. "They only scratched the surface of everything that really went on. But I'm not worried about the Blake Association – at least not primarily. Instead I want to write a book about _you_ , aboutwhat happened to you and your family, and your ten-year search for vengeance. I want to tell your story."

"No," he answered firmly. "Absolutely not." He leaned forward and looked her straight in the eye. "You're right! It was a ten-year journey – ten years of my life. I've given enough of my life already to that man - and now I've gone on. I am not interested in revisiting any of it."

"But Patrick, people have a right to know!"

He looked at her incredulously. "No they don't. They have a right to know about the Blake association and what it did, but they don't have to know about my private life."

"But you killed a man – that makes it no longer a private matter. Come on Patrick – this is a book that people will _love._ In fact, I wouldn't even be surprised if they wanted to make a movie about you. I mean look at the story! Your beautiful wife and little girl are killed horribly because you went on air and taunted a serial killer. And then you spent the next ten years searching for him. And during those ten years you solved – how many crimes? And at the end of it you found him and you killed him – and helped bring a major criminal organization down. It's an incredible story Patrick – and one that I'm going to tell."

"I won't have any part of it," he said softly. "You will not get a single thing from me, or from any of my colleagues."

"I don't want to write it without your cooperation – but I will," she warned. "And if you don't want to be involved I'll have to write about the fact that you killed a man – in cold blood – and you haven't been prosecuted for it. That might raise some questions, don't you think?"

"You're trying to _blackmail_ me?" he asked incredulously.

"I wouldn't use such a dirty word," she smiled. "Let's just say – I've given you an incentive to cooperate. Look, this could be big – _will_ be big and I'll make sure you get a percentage of the profits."

"Generous of you," he said sarcastically. He had to keep up his façade with her, but inside he was seething – seething and scared. He took a deep breath and looked down – trying to figure out what he could do. This was the last thing he needed. He'd gone on. It had taken him two years on his island and then months afterward to let go of that former life and begin a new one with Teresa. Now he had a child – a precious little boy – and all he wanted to do was to enjoy life with his new family.

He couldn't relive that time. He was afraid of what it would do to him to bring up all the old memories, to have to relive the years searching, the years watching McAllister kill other innocents. He didn't want to do it – and he wasn't going to.

He slowly lifted his head and looked at the woman across from him. "What about your TV show?" he asked, more because he was trying to buy time, than because he was interested.

"It was cancelled," she said bitterly. "And there's no way I want to go to work again as a lawyer."

"You've dealt with lots of crimes over the years. Why not get someone to work with you who _wants_ his or her story written?"

"But there aren't any stories as fascinating as yours – or frankly any _people_ as fascinating as you. You're an incredibly interesting man, Patrick Jane, and people are going to want to read your story. I mean look at this," she swept her arm to the room and the area outside. "You're actually working for the FBI after killing a man. How many people end up like you?"

"I'm not going to have any part of this," he said. "In fact, if you insist on writing this, on publishing it, I'll do everything in my power to refute what you say."

Her eyes narrowed and she glared. "You wouldn't?"

"Watch me," he told her. "I've told you – I've gone on and I don't want to revisit that time in my life. Don't you understand? He's dead and gone and all of us who were his victims just want to get on with our lives. I will not spend any more of my time on this." He stood quickly, pushing the chair back with his legs. "I suggest you find a story with more willing subjects because I will not cooperate." He walked to the door and pushed it open with one hand. "I trust you can find your own way out. It was – nice – seeing you again Karen."

Jane walked away from the interrogation room and towards his couch. He was both worried and upset. He knew Karen Cross – and knew that she'd do whatever it took to get more attention, to make more money, to build a following. She must have hated having had her show cancelled. He felt slightly sorry for her, but not enough to have her blow up his life for everyone to see.

The thought horrified him.

The elevator opened and he glanced over to see whether Karen was leaving, but instead he saw his wife arriving. In her arms was the small bundle that had become the second of the two most important people in his life.

"Teresa!" he swiftly walked over to her and put his arm around her. He bent over and kissed her briefly on the lips and then bent farther to kiss his son's forehead. The little boy was sound asleep – his beautiful bowed mouth pursed as if dreaming of something wonderful.

"How are you?" Jane asked softly – thrilled and relieved to see Teresa. He still felt shaky from his meeting with Cross.

"I'm fine – _we're_ fine," she frowned, looking intently at his face. "What's wrong Jane?" she asked, reverting to the name she had called him for so many years. "What's happened?"

Jane sighed. "Nothing."

"No, don't say that. _Something's_ happened."

He breathed in and out deeply. "Karen Cross – you know –"

"Yes, I remember her. What about her."

Jane nodded his head in the direction of the interrogation room, where Karen still stood. She had a hand with her cell phone held up to her ear. She was talking to someone – about what he could guess.

"She came to see me this afternoon. She wants to write a book."

"A book?" her forehead crinkled. "What kind of book?"

"A book about me – about my search for vengeance."

"She wants to write a book about _you_?" she asked, glancing back towards where Karen stood.

"Hey, I'm pretty interesting," he told her, a bit put out by her reply. Lisbon laughed and patted him on the arm. "I know. I'm just teasing. So, you're telling me she wants to write a book about the last twelve years?"

"Ten I think," he clarified. "I don't know if she wants to know about my time on the island or the time now – other than to say I work for the FBI."

"Well, if she's going to write about you, she'd better include everything, especially the happy ending!" She reached up and gave him a gentle kiss. "Don't worry," she told him softly. "We'll figure it out. We're _not_ going to let Karen Cross destroy what we have."

With that his lips moved – and slowly he began to smile. He reached over and gently pulled her to him, the baby sandwiched in between. "Yes, we definitely did get our happy ending, didn't we!"

Whether it was because he was squashed by his parents, was feeling hungry or simply wanted to make his presence known, little baby Jane decided to let out a squawk at that moment. His parents laughed, and separated.

"Is he hungry?" Jane asked, looking down at his son with total love in his eyes.

"Probably," his wife said, rolling her eyes. "He's definitely your son!"

Jane grinned and reached over and took the now wriggling bundle from his wife. "Hi little man," he said. "Are you just like me?"

The baby cooed and waved his tiny fists in the air. His father caught one of them and brought it to him mouth and kissed it. For that he got a toothless grin from his son.

"Who's that?"

Jane looked up to see a shocked looking Karen Cross staring down at the baby. He had an irresistible urge to turn away, to hide the baby from her. Suddenly the happiness of the last few minutes faded, as he again remembered the plans this woman had.

"Hello Ms. Cross," Teresa said, her voice cool. "What are you doing here?"

Karen looked over at her and frowned. "I came to speak with Patrick," was all she would say.

"Yes, he told me. You want to write a book, is that right?"

"Yes I do. He has an amazing story, and it needs to be told."

"Why?" Teresa asked bluntly. "So that you can be famous? So that you can make lots of money?"

"That's not the reason I'm doing this?"

"It's not? Because I can't see any other reason. Patrick definitely doesn't want it, and neither do I and really – the public has all the information it needs. Admit it, you're doing this for yourself! You're willing to harm others for your own selfish purpose."

"Who am I harming," Karen shot back, looking angry. "I'll only be telling the truth."

"You'll be harming Patrick," Teresa said. "He's had to live through it once, and you're going to make him live through it again. And then there's me."

"You? What do you have to do with it?"

"Well, there was the fact that I was his partner for ten years – and helped him in his search for Red John, and now there's the fact that I'm his wife."

Karen looked between them, looking at first shocked – then pleased. "So, you got married? Is this recent?"

"Does it matter," Jane asked. He closed his eyes briefly. Now she would _really_ want to do the story – especially since she would see them as having had a storybook ending. Which he had to admit, they had.

"Yes, of course it does. This is amazing and my readers are going to love it. After searching for your wife's killer for ten years, you finally kill him, and then you marry the woman who helped you in your quest. It's classic!"

Just then the baby squawked again, this time sounding not so happy. Jane looked down at him, and knew that he was about to cry, probably either hungry or wet. He sighed and lifted the baby onto his shoulder, and began to pat his back gently.

It was only then that Karen's attention came back to the baby. Her eyes narrowed and she watched as Patrick rocked the child. "Who is that?" she asked.

"Oh boy," Teresa muttered softly, looking both angry and disgusted. "Who do you think it is," she asked. "It's our son!"

"Your _son?_ You had a baby?"

Neither Teresa nor Patrick said anything, instead focusing on the baby. Karen continued to stare at the three of them for a few, silent minutes.

"Congratulations," she said finally. "He's beautiful."

"Yes, yes he is," Patrick said softly. "And he's the reason I don't want you to do this Karen. Please, if not for Teresa or me, then for our son? We just – we want to lead a happy, normal life – no serial killers, no quests for vengeance – just Sunday picnics and going to the park and to little league. I don't – I can't – I can't relive that time."

Jane stopped and swallowed, not used to wearing his heart on his sleeve for others, but knowing this was too important to leave.

Karen continued to look at them, and then she sighed. "It would have been a great book."

Teresa blinked and looked uncertain for a moment, but then she began to smile. "You're not going to do it?"

Karen sighed. "I'm going to regret this – but no, I won't do the book." She looked at the baby as she said this. "I know I seem like I don't care but – I'm not so selfish as to harm a small child." She looked over at Jane. "Just promise me one thing?"

"What?" he asked, his head tilted and a small smile on his face.

"That if you ever _do_ decide to write a book about your experiences, that you'll give me first right of refusal?"

Jane regarded her for a moment, and then gave her his full watt smile. "It's a deal," he told her. "And thank you – you don't know how much this means to us."

"Oh, I think I do," she told him with an answering smile. "I can see that you're finally happy – and as – one-track minded as I can be, I don't want to be the one to destroy that."

"Thank you Karen," Patrick reached out with his free hand and offered it to her. She laughed and shook his hand and then shook Teresa's.

"I thought I was going to come down here and convince you to let me tell your story – but I see you've written your own – and it has a wonderful ending. I'm happy for you both."

"Thank you," they both told her.

"Well, now I have to go and find another story to write! And remember – if you ever change your mind …"

"We'll call," Patrick told her. The two of them – or three, he smiled as he looked at his son, watched as Karen got on the elevator. Soon she was gone and he looked again at the now-content baby. "So, let's go see Uncle Cho!" he said to his son.

With a grin Teresa linked her arm through his, and together they went to show off their son to his honorary uncles.


End file.
